“Sell your possessions, and give alms”. So Jesus instructs his followers, in the midst of a lyrical section of teaching in which he praises the way that God feeds ravens, bedecks lilies in flowery glory, and assures his followers that “it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:22–34). This is the passage from Luke’s Gospel—which largely parallels a passage also in Matthew’s Gospel (Matt 6:25–34)—that is proposed by the Revised Common Lectionary for reading in services this coming Sunday.
The passage gives the impression that Jesus was advocating a life of asceticism, marked by poverty, lived in complete dependence on the provisions of God. Indeed, some interpreters have claimed that Jesus was born in poverty, deriving this from the “born in a manger … no room at the inn” element of “the Christmas story” (Luke 2:7), as well as Luke’s later comment that when Mary brought the offering for her purification (Luke 2:22), it was the lesser option prescribed for one who could not afford to offer a sheep (Lev12:8). Further, that he was known as “the carpenter”(Mark 6:3) or as “the carpenter’s son” (Matt 13:55) is seen to be evidence of his lowly status.
More careful analysis, however, indicates that this is too simplistic. British Anglican scholar Ian Paul has posted a detailed consideration of this matter, in which he draws on very helpful research by historians and economists who have turned their attention to the ancient world. (Ian Paul can be aggressively dismissive of arguments that do not align with his clear-cut conservative-evangelical-Anglican perspective, especially when it comes to the debate about sexuality and gender in the. Church of England; but in this post—as in many others on his page—his careful scholarly analysis is most helpful.)
Paul notes what others before have observed—that a tiny minority of people in the Hellenistic world had power and wealth, but a substantial proportion of people were at the other end of the social stratum. At the very bottom, in the most precarious position, were those who were desperately poor: orphans, widows, unskilled workers, beggars, prisoners, and disabled people—perhaps 25 to 30% of the population. Above them were those who were dependent on their labour to meet their day-by-day needs—perhaps 30 to 40% of the population; and then above them, a further 20 to 25% of the population who generally lived just above the minimum level required to sustain a reasonable life: most merchants and traders, skilled artisans, freedpersons (formerly slaves), and families living on larger farms.
This breakdown is based on estimates by biblical scholar Bruce Longenecker in his analysis of social levels in Pauline churches (Remember the Poor, Eerdmans, 2010). Longenecker in turn draws on the work of historian Peter Oakes, who had undertaken careful analysis of demography and housing in Pompeii (Reading Romans in Pompeii; SPCK, 2009).
The Gospels provide a number of clues as to where the disciples might have fitted into this schema. The toll collector Matthew (or Levi) was a small business man operating to collect tolls from travellers along the roads (Mark 2:14; Matt 9:9); the four Galilean fisherman ran their own fishing businesses with their “hired men” (Mark 1:20). As for Jesus, Paul observes that “as a tekton, a general builder (Matt 13:55; Mark 6:3) working with stone and wood (though not metal), it is more than likely that Joseph (and therefore Jesus) … was above either 55% or 82% of the population not including slaves, across the Empire as a whole”.
So we can see that the teachings of Jesus that instruct his followers on the matter of wealth and possessions are designed to stimulate the consciences of his followers, who were not beggardly poor, to alert them to their responsibilities towards those in the lowest socio-economic levels of society. They are to act towards them remembering that God has long had good news for the the poor and liberty for the oppressed (Isa 61:1–2, quoted at Luke 4:18), knowing that Jesus blesses those who are poor, hungry, and weeping (Luke 6:20–21), and recalling how Mary sang that God has “lifted up the lowly [and] filled the hungry with good things” (Luke 1:52–53), which itself evoked the ancient song of Hannah that God “raises up the poor from the dust [and] lifts the needy from the ash heap” (1 Sam 2:8, repeated at Ps 113:7).
Accordingly, in instructing his followers to give no regard to food and clothing, Jesus is not necessarily saying, “remain in poverty”. Rather, I think he is admonishing them—and us—not to be caught in the perpetual circle of seeking more, to enjoy more. Rather, his message is that, what we have, must be shared; what we gain, we should use judiciously, to help those in greater need than we are. For this is what “the kingdom” is about, surely.
This year, 2025, marks 1700 years since the Council of Nicaea was held. I am posting a series of blogs about the way that the New Testament texts contributed (or didn’t contribute) to the formulation that emerged from that First Ecumenical Council, as it is often styled. In earlier posts I explored affirmations in Paul and the Synoptic Gospels, a section of the letter to the Colossians, and the opening verses of the letter to the Hebrews and the Gospel attributed to John.
In this blog I turn to the Pastoral Epistles, which are often cited in support of a Christianity which is grounded in doctrinal statements about “the faith” These three letters contain regular references to “the faith” (1 Tim 3:9, 13; 4:1, 6; 5:8; 6:10, 12, 21; 2 Tim 2:19; 4:7; Tit 1:1, 4, 13; 3:15) and “the truth” (1 Tim 2:4; 3:13; 4:3; 6:5; 2 Tim 2:18, 25; 3:7–8; 4:4; Tit 1:1, 14). In 2 Timothy there are references to “the word of truth” that needs to be “rightly explained” (2 Tim 2:15) and “the standard of sound teaching that you have heard from me” (2 Tim 1:13), and an injunction to “guard the good treasure entrusted to you, with the help of the Holy Spirit living in us” (2 Tim 1:14).
Sound teaching is also referenced in 1 Timothy, “the sound teaching that conforms to the glorious gospel of the blessed God” (1:Tim 1:10–11; also 4:6), while the letter to Titus refers to “the word that is trustworthy in accordance with the teaching” that Titus is told will ensure “sound doctrine” (Tit 1:9). These three letters clearly envisage a truth that can be conveyed in proportional statements.
So we find that “the mystery of our religion” can be summed up in six succinct claims about Jesus: that he was “revealed in flesh, vindicated in spirit, seen by angels, proclaimed among Gentiles, believed in throughout the world, taken up in glory” (1 Tim 3:16).
Whilst the Nicene Creed affirms that Jesus “became human”, the only other element of this six-part credal statement that it reflects is the final clause, which underlies the statement that Jesus “ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father … [he] will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead”. There’s nothing here about the salvation that Jesus brings, despite this being a central Pauline theme (Rom 5:9–10; 10:9–10; 1 Cor 1:18; 15:1–2; 1 Thess 5:9–10) which is referenced in the Nicene Creed in the phrase “for us and for our salvation he came down from heaven”.
The credal declaration of 1 Tim 3:16 declares that Jesus was “vindicated in spirit”. Although the word used is the same, these seems quite different from the way that the Spirit is referred to in the Nicene Creed, “we believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver of life” (and more). Again, the description of the Spirit in the Nicene Creed has taken various isolated scriptural “proof texts” about the Spirit and woven them into a cohesive “systematic theology” of that person of the Trinity.
It is noteworthy, though, that in 1 Timothy the Spirit has elsewhere been co-opted to become the guarantor of orthodoxy (“guard the good treasure entrusted to you, with the help of the Holy Spirit living in us”, 2 Tim 1:14), and the agent of an ecclesial ritual (God saved us “through the water of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit”, Tit 3:4–6). The Spirit gifts “power … and self-discipline” (2 Tim 1:7), quite a different role from the gifts that are noted in the authentic letters by Paul. Whilst the Nicene Creed declares that the Spirit “has spoken through the prophets”, there is nothing to indicate that the Spirit has a role in guaranteeing orthodoxy.
The two letters Timothy each contain another short credal-like passage, both of which have some loose relationship to the Nicene Creed. The first is “there is one God; there is also one mediator between God and humankind, Christ Jesus, himself human, who gave himself a ransom for all” (1 Tim 2:5–6a). One God, the title Christ Jesus, and the affirmation of his humanity are each reflected in the Nicene Creed, but other phrases have no clear and direct correlation.
The claim that Christ gave himself as “a ransom for all” most likely echoes the saying attributed to Jesus at Mark 10:45, “the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many”. This, in turn, is believed to be echoing a description of the function performed by “the righteous one, my servant” in the fourth of the four Servant Songs. At the end of this song, the claim is made that the servant “shall make many righteous bearing iniquities or being a ransom and he shall bear their iniquities” (Isa 53:11).
Although there is no direct reference in the Nicene Creed to bearing iniquities or being a ransom for sin, it is said of Jesus that “for us and for our salvation he came down from heaven”, and that “for our sake he was crucified”. The phrase “for our sake” is considered by various commentators to have an allusion to the process of salvation.
Perhaps the inclusion of this phrase in the Creed was intended to pick up Paul’s affirmation that “for our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor 5:21). This, in turn, has statements behind it like “Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures” (1 Cor 15:3), he “loved me and gave himself for me” (Gal 2:20), and he “gave himself for our sins to set us free from the present evil age” (Gal 1:4). So it does allude in a weak way to a scriptural idea.
The motif of salvation is, of course, at the very centre of Paul’s authentic writings (1 Cor 1:18; Rom 5:9–10; 10:9–19) and in later letters written in his name (Eph 2:5, 8; 1 Tim 2:3–4; 2 Tim 1:8–10; Tit 3:5). In the Creed, by contrast, whilst it is offered as a bare statement, the words move on quickly to other matters. Salvation receives but a passing note; quite a contrast to the way that Paul places it at the heart of his message. He tells the Romans that “now that we have been justified by his blood, will we be saved through him” (Rom 5:9), and the Thessalonians that he was “speaking to the Gentiles so that they may be saved” (1 Thess 2:16).
The second credal-like passage, in 2 Tim 2:11–13, begins with a concept that is more closely related to Paul’s own ruminations on baptism (Rom 6:1–11) than to any element in the Nicene Creed. “If we have died with him, we will also live with him”, the statement in 2 Tim 2 begins; “if we endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he will also deny us; if we are faithless, he remains faithful—for he cannot deny himself.”
This poetic fragment, introduced with “the saying is sure”, sounds more like a sermonic reflection on and extension of the Romans passage. Perhaps “we look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come”, in the Nicene Creed, might point to some of this sermon in reflection, but the Creed is tighter and more focussed in its statement. Again, the allusion is weak and brief.
But perhaps the intention of those who formed the Creed was simply to note, but not expand on or explain, these central elements of the faith? Perhaps the Creed is actually a fourth century dot-point style bulletin, a list of keynotes that are to be mentioned and that require more detailed and expanded exploration? In which case, it is is study sessions exploring these central,elements of “the faith” which ultimately have much more value, in my opinion, that the rote reciting of these dot-points on a regular basis. Or is my reformed bias showing here??
Each canonical Gospel ends with an account of the death of Jesus and his burial; the discovery of the empty tomb and subsequent appearances to various followers; and, in one case—that of Luke—an explicit account of his ascending into heaven. (Both Matthew, in its closing scene, and John, in one of the words of the risen Jesus, offer hints about this event without attempting to describe it.)
The Nicene Creed certainly acknowledges this, albeit in a staccato shorthand manner: “on the third day he rose again in accordance with the scriptures; he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the father”. It then goes on to describe future events yet to take place: “he will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end”.
These statements draw from isolated verses found in a range of different contexts: various sayings attributed to Jesus, some statements made in Acts and some letters, and inferences drawn from Revelation. They are collated into a succinct, cohesive set of affirmations. It’s a very early instance of a method that became widespread throughout the centuries: weaving isolated “proof texts” into a single “systematic theology”.
However, the Creed turns a blind eye to much of what is told in the various Gospels, in terms of what Jesus said and did, who he encountered and what it meant to respond to his command to “follow me”, where he spent his time and what essential teachings he conveyed. These things were important to the Gospel writers—but not, it would seem, to the framers of the Creed. Perhaps they simply assumed these things from knowledge of the Gospel? But this would not explain why other aspects of the New Testament texts are, as we have seen, directly referenced within the Creed. Some selective editing was at work! See
The one exception to this might well be the thread running through the fourth Gospel, in which the series of conflicts that Jesus has with authorities in Judea revolve around the status of Jesus and his relationship to God. This issue sits at the heart of John’s Gospel, and it is also at the centre of the concerns reflected in the Nicene Creed.
In the Prologue to this Gospel, as we have seen, the pre–existent Logos, the word made flesh, Jesus Christ, is the one who “makes God known” (1:1, 14, 17-18). Jesus “speaks the words of God” (3:34; 8:47; 12:50; 14:8–10; 17:14), gives teaching which is “from God” (7:16–18; 14:24; 17:7–8), makes known “everything that I have heard from my Father” (15:15), utters words of “spirit and life” (6:63, 67). For the author of this Gospel, Jesus is, indeed, the Word who was always with God (1:1).
There are some striking claims made about Jesus in this Gospel, which relate directly to the Creed. Beside the Sea of Tiberias, Simon Peter affirms that, in Jesus, “we have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:69). Later, in Bethany, it is Martha who expresses what Peter had said (in the Synoptic Gospels) at Caesarea Philippi, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God”, before continuing with a characteristically Johannine addition, “(you are) the one coming into the world” (John 11:27).
It is worth exploring, however, how some of the other statements spoken about Jesus in this Gospel were made in contexts of dispute and disagreement. In the first half of the Gospel, the leaders in Jerusalem hear a series of teachings from Jesus and respond with surprise and a growing antagonism.
These leaders witnessed the healing of a lame man by Jesus and heard his claims about his authority (ch.5), leading them to accuse him of “making himself equal to God” (5:18). They heard him speak about himself as “the living bread which came down from heaven” (ch.6), although the key response in this chapter is not from the authorities, but from those following Jesus: “this teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” (6:60).
As Jesus teaches during the Festival of Booths (ch.7), “the chief priests and Pharisees sent temple police to arrest him” (7:32), but this threat was not carried through, for the temple police report back with their observation, “never has anyone spoken like this!” (7:46). Jesus continues with a further speech, claiming “I am the light of the world” (8:12; also 9:5). Is this a deliberate echo of the “pillar of fire by night” that gave light to the travelling Israelites (Exod 13:21; Neh 9:12, 18)? Certainly, looking forward from John’s Gospel, there is a clear allusion to this claim in the credal affirmation that Jesus is “Light from light”.
After Jesus makes this claim, the debate with the authorities intensifies with Jesus accusing them, “you are from your father the devil, and you choose to do your father’s desires” (8:44) and the authorities responding, “are we not right in saying that you are a Samaritan and have a demon?” (8:48). This scene ends with the first threat to stone Jesus (8:59).
Then, after some Pharisees take the lead in interrogating a man who had been healed from his blindness by Jesus (ch.9), they reviled Jesus with the statement, “we are disciples of Moses; we know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from” (9:28–29). The antagonism continues, focussed around the identity of Jesus. In a further speech, Jesus then claims “I am the gate for the sheep”, lambasting those who came before him (presumably the Jewish authorities and their precursors) as “thieves and bandits”, declaring that “the sheep did not listen to them” (10:7–8).
Jesus intensifies matters still further when he appropriates the shepherd, a well-known image for leadership amongst the Jews (Jer 3:15, 23:4; Ezek 34:1–12; Ps 78:70–72), claiming that “I am the good shepherd” (John 10:11, 14). Again, he is accused by some of being possessed by a demon, although not all agree (10:19–21), and again there is a threat to stone him (10:31). His words are provocative: “the Father and I are one” (10:30). The response is equally incendiary: “you, though only a human being, are making yourself God” (10:33).
Yet again, Jesus avoids being arrested (10:39), but what he does next seals the deal in the mind of his powerful opponents. Responding to a plea to travel to Bethany, where his beloved friend Lazarus was ill, Jesus arrives to find him dead and in his tomb (ch.11). The narrator reports that Jesus made a sweeping claim for himself: “I am the resurrection and the life” (11:25)—the last of seven “I am” statements in this Gospel, which cumulatively provide a significant case for the unique significance of Jesus. For the author of this Gospel, Jesus is “the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart” (1:18) who has been “made equal with God” (5:18); indeed, the Johannine Jesus claims explicitly, “the Father and I are one” (10:30).
To demonstrate that he is indeed “the resurrection”, Jesus called Lazarus out of the tomb—as a result of which, “many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him” (11:45). Some of them, however, “went to the Pharisees and told them what he had done” leading to a meeting of the council which determined to put him to death (11:46–53). And so the decision is made, and the path is set.
Soon after, the narrator reports that “Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself” (13:3–4). Later, Jesus told his followers that “now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once” (16:27).
Then, after his death—and his resurrection from that death—Thomas utters the definitive Johannine declaration about, Jesus: “My Lord and my God!” (20:28). There can be no doubt, for this evangelist, about that claim. (No Synoptic author comes close to attributing any such claim to Jesus.) Again, the Nicene Creed echoes this in its assertion that Jesus is “true God from true God … of one being with the Father”.
It is worth recalling the antagonistic context in which Jesus makes some of his best-known and much-beloved affirmations. It is also worth noting that the Council that made the decisions about the wording of the Nicene Creed was also an environment of highly-contested disagreements. Why, the tale is told of one member who used physical violence to restrain another, echoing the conflicts of John 5–11. At least in this regard, those who wrote the Creed were faithful to the aggressive methos and polemical tone of scripture!
This Gospel thus follows a very different pathway from that offered by the Synoptics Gospels, which relentlessly orient the focus of the reader or hearer onto what Jesus said and did in Galilee, and then what was said and done to Jesus in Jerusalem. And the Nicene Creed, of course, happily ran headlong along the pathway opened up by the fourth Gospel, and, as we have noted, left the many significant elements of the body of each of the Synoptic Gospels to be noted, almost as afterthoughts, in a short sequence of punctiliar comments: he “became incarnate … was made human … was crucified under Pontius Pilate … suffered death and was buried”.
This year, 2025, marks 1700 years since the Council of Nicaea was held. I am posting a series of blogs about the way that the New Testament texts contributed (or didn’t contribute) to the formulation that emerged from that First Ecumenical Council, as it is often styled. The first post explored some one-phrase credal-like affirmations in Paul and the Synoptic Gospels; the second post examined a section of the letter to the Colossians.
Icon depicting Constantine the Great, accompanied by some of the bishops of the First Council of Nicaea (325), holding the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed of 381. First line of main text in Greek: Πιστεύω εἰς ἕνα Θ[εό]ν, πατέρα παντοκράτορα, ποιητὴν οὐρανοῦ κ[αὶ] γῆς. Translation: “I believe in one God, the Father the Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.”
We have looked at 1 Corinthians and a scene in the Synoptic Gospels, as well as a passage in Colossians that draws significantly on Wisdom texts to explain the importance of Jesus. There are other places in the New Testament which make quite explicit use of the Wisdom literature as they take ideas about Lady Wisdom—as co-creator with God, as revealed and teacher of things from God—and apply them directly to Jesus. In the course of doing this, of course, Wisdom loses her feminine identity, as it is subsumed in the masculine figure of Jesus (as we have already seen in Colossians). In the first few centuries of the church, Patriarchy Rules!!
The two places where this use of Wisdom motifs can be seen are in the opening verses of the letter to the Hebrews (Heb 1:1–4) and in the majestic poetic prologue to John’s Gospel (John 1:1–18). In both cases, Jesus is the speaking forth of God, as Wisdom was; and in both cases, Jesus is seen to have been present with God at the creation of the world, and active in the creative process, as Wisdom was.
In the prologue to Hebrews, its anonymous author declares that God, who “long ago spoke to our ancestors in many and various ways by the prophets” has more recently, “in these last days … spoken to us by a Son” (Heb 1:1), one who “sustains all things by his powerful word” (Heb 1:3). In the prologue to the fourth Gospel, the John who is attributed as its author similarly declares that the pre–existent Logos (John 1:1), revealed as “the Word [who] became flesh” (John 1:14), was the one who “makes God known” (John 1: 17–18).
These statements mirror the affirmations made in earlier Jewish texts about Wisdom. According to Proverbs, her declaration is very public: “Wisdom cries out in the street; in the squares she raises her voice; at the busiest corner she cries out; at the entrance of the city gates she speaks” (Prov 1:20–22; see also 8:1–3). What she speaks bears the mark of God’s teachings; her words are noble, true, what is right, and completely righteous (Prov 8:6–8).
As she speaks, teaching her children, she “gives help to those who seek her” (Sir 4:11). As he writes of Wisdom in a later time, Ben Sirach describes how “in the assembly of the Most High she opens her mouth, and in the presence of his hosts she tells of her glory” (24:1–2). In her words is wisdom for life and instruction for souls (51:25–26).
The motif of “word” then runs consistently throughout the fourth Gospel: Jesus “speaks the words of God” (John 3:34; 8:47; 12:50; 14:8–10; 17:14), gives teaching which is “from God” (7:16–18; 14:24; 17:7–8), makes known “everything that I have heard from my Father” (15:15), utters words of “spirit and life” (6:63, 67). For the author of this Gospel, Jesus is, indeed, the Word who was always with God (1:1). It is a striking appropriation of the role that Wisdom has played, according to these earlier texts.
Turning back to the prologue to this Gospel, we note that Jesus is portrayed not only as the speaking-forth of God as “the word”, but also as the one who manifests glory, “the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). Indeed, the glory shown by Jesus had been evident centuries earlier, as was attested in the words of Isaiah (John 12:41).
This claim about Jesus resonates with the description of Wisdom as “a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty” (Wisdom Sol 7:25). Indeed, the motif of “glory” hearkens back to wilderness stories in Exodus and Numbers and receives its clearest New Testament expression, in relation to Jesus, at Col 1:15–20, as we have previously seen.
The imagery of “glory” is taken up and then intensified in the prologue of Hebrews, where Jesus is seen as “the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being” (Heb 1:3). Indeed the Wisdom of Solomon, the figure of Wisdom was portrayed in majestic terms as “a breath of the power of God … a reflection of eternal light, a spotless mirror of the working of God, and an image of [God’s] goodness” (Wisd Sol 7:25–26). Hebrews itself echoes the language of the Wisdom of Solomon.
The person of Wisdom, a reflection of God, the exact imprint of God, emanating directly from the Almighty, had earlier been described in Proverbs as being “set up, at the first, before the beginning of the earth” (Prov 8:30), taking part with the deity in the acts of creation. The poetry builds through repetition and ever-expanding circle of influence; when “he established the heavens, I was there”, she says; “when he drew a circle on the face of the deep, when he made firm the skies above, when he established the fountains of the deep, when he assigned to the sea its limit … when he marked out the foundations of the earth” (Prov 8:27–29). In all these acts of creation, Wisdom was beside the Lord, “daily his delight, rejoicing before him always, rejoicing in his inhabited world and delighting in the human race” (Prov 8:30–31).
This affirmation leads on to the claim that Wisdom “pervades and penetrates all things” (Wisd Sol 7:24) and “renews all things … [she] passes into holy souls and makes them friends of God, and prophets” (Wisd Sol 7:27). She “reaches mightily from one end of the earth to the other, and she orders all things well” (Wisd Sol 8:1). Likewise, Jesus son of Sirach writes in a song of Wisdom that she “came forth from the mouth of the Most High, and covered the earth like a mist” (Sir 24:3), expanding on this in a sequence of grand claims: “I dwelt in the highest heavens, and my throne was in a pillar of cloud. Alone I compassed the vault of heaven and traversed the depths of the abyss. Over waves of the sea, over all the earth, and over every people and nation I have held sway.” (Sir 24:6).
And so, just as Wisdom has been with God since the beginning, working with God in every phase of creation, the claim is then made for Jesus, the Word, that he was “in the beginning with God” (John 1:2), and that “all things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being” (John 1:3). The co-creative role of Wisdom has been claimed for the Word, the sole creator of the world.
And, indeed, the presence of this Word throughout all the world is expressed in another characteristic Johannine image, as the Word comes as “the light of all people” a light which “shines in the darkness”, the “true light” which “enlightens everyone” (John 1:4–5, 9). This is picked up with focussed clarity in the claims later put onto the lips of Jesus, “I am the light of the world” (8:12; 9:5; and see 12:35–36, 46).
So there is a clear and direct trajectory in Jewish documents, from the scriptural text of Proverbs, through the Intertestamental texts of the Wisdom of Solomon and Ben Sirach, into the New Testament texts as indicated. And from there, into the credal structures of the emerging patristic church, affirming that belief in Jesus entails acknowledgement that he is “the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one being with the Father”. Whilst some of the precise terminology and its relationship to the biblical texts might be debated, the line of development (from Wisdom, to Word, to creed) is clear.
All of which makes it rather striking that so much of the second section of the Nicene Creed is devoted to articulating a line of thought that draws from a relatively small collection of biblical texts, whilst almost completely ignoring the vast majority of what the New Testament bears witness to: the life of Jesus, his teachings, his fervent sense of justice, his passionate desire to reform and renew Judaism, and the miraculous deeds attributed to him.
The richness of meaning and wideness of scope of so many stories and teachings and passages within the New Testament is reduced and narrowed to a small collection of words in the creed. The creed itself is largely focussed on matters heavenly, speculative, and philosophical. Such is the nature of the Nicene Creed.
This year, 2025, marks 1700 years since the Council of Nicaea was held. I am posting a series of blogs about the way that the New Testament texts contributed (or didn’t contribute) to the credal formulation that emerged from that First Ecumenical Council, as it is often styled. The first post explored some one-phrase credal-like affirmations in Paul and the Synoptic Gospels. In this post the focus is on a section of the letter to the Colossians.
Icon depicting Constantine the Great, accompanied by some of the bishops of the First Council of Nicaea (325), holding the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed of 381. First line of main text in Greek: Πιστεύω εἰς ἕνα Θ[εό]ν, πατέρα παντοκράτορα, ποιητὴν οὐρανοῦ κ[αὶ] γῆς. Translation: “I believe in one God, the Father the Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.”
Alongside the very short credal affirmations found in 1 Corinthians and the Caesarea Philippi scene in the Synoptic Gospels (see first post), another place in the New Testament where language from the scriptural traditions of Judaism is used to shape an affirmation of what is believed about Jesus is in the first chapter of the letter to the Colossians.
Col 1:15–20 provides us with a more complex example of what we might consider to be a creed “before Nicaea”. It provides some of the material for the developed theological confession of Jesus that the Nicene Creed uses (as just noted).
The author of this letter (claiming to be Paul, 1:1, although I am not convinced it was actually by him) begins with the expected words of greeting (1:1–2) and prayer of thanksgiving (1:3–8). The prayer morphs into a prayer of intercession for the Colossians (1:9–12), cycling back into an expression of thanks to “the Father” (1:12) for what he has done through “his beloved Son” (1:13–14).
This thanksgiving then morphs seamlessly (in the original Greek, there is no sentence break) into an extended affirmation about Jesus, “the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation … the head of the body, the church … the beginning, the firstborn from the dead …[in whom] all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell” (1:15–20).
This is quite an extension to the expression of thanks; the sentence in Greek actually begins in v.9 and continues through multiple subordinate clauses to v.20! It offers a relatively early consideration of “the person and work of Jesus Christ”, as later systematic theology writers would label it. It is a complex and intricate affirmation of faith.
The main thrust of this early creed, if we can call it that, can best be understood by giving consideration to the way this it draws on Jewish elements—specifically, the Wisdom material found in parts of Hebrew Scripture. Jesus is portrayed very much in the manner of Lady Wisdom, as we encounter her in scripture in Proverbs 8, and then in the deuterocanonical works of Ben Sirach (Ecclesiaticus) and the Wisdom of Solomon.
In Colossians, of course, the attributes of the female Wisdom are applied directly to the male Jesus. Jesus is here described as the agent of God’s creative powers: “in him all things in heaven and on earth were created … all things have been created through him and for him” (Col 1:16). In the same way, in Proverbs Wisdom herself is said to have declared that “ages ago I was set up, at the first, before the beginning of the earth … when [the Lord] established the heavens, I was there … when he marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside him, like a master worker” (Prov 8:22–31).
In the Wisdom of Solomon, Wisdom is described as “the fashioner of all things” (Wisd Sol 7:22), “a breath of the power of God” who “pervades and penetrates all things”(7:24–25), who was “present when you [God] made the world” (9:9), whose “immortal spirit is in all things” (12:1).
In Ben Sirach, Jesus, son of Sirach, declares that “Wisdom was created before all other things” (Sir 1:4), that at the very first she “came forth from the mouth of the Most High, and covered the earth like a mist” (Sir 24:3), and “compassed the vault of heaven and traversed the depths of the abyss” (24:5) as she undertook her creative works, distinguishing one day from another and appointing “the different seasons and festivals” (33:7–8).
Jesus Christ, as the one who is “before all things” (Col 1:17), reiterates what Wisdom declared, that “before the mountains had been shaped, before the hills, I was brought forth—when [the Lord] had not yet made earth and fields, or the world’s first bits of soil” (Prov 8:25–26).
So Jesus is the one who has “first place in everything” (Col 1:18), just as the works of Wisdom can be traced “from the beginning of creation” (Wisdom Sol 6:22). The importance of these Wisdom writings for what is stated in Col 1 is clear. (The same writings underpin the theological affirmations made about Jesus in Heb 1:1–4 and John 1:1–18; on which, see later posts.)
The passage in Colossians also indicates that believers are “transferred … into the kingdom of [God’s] beloved son” (Col 1:13); they are rescued (1:13) and redeemed (1:14) by the work of Jesus. In similar fashion, the Wisdom of Solomon contains a long section praising Wisdom who was actively involved in human affairs from when “she delivered him [Adam] from his transgression” (Wisd Sol 10:1), saved the people at the Exodus, and guided the Conquest and settlement in the land. It was Wisdom who punished the Canaanites (12:3–11), sinful Israelites (12:19–22), and the Egyptians (12:23–27), as well as all idolators (13:1—14:31).
A similarly lengthy poem praising the works of Wisdom occurs in chapters 44 to 50 of Ben Sirach, extending all to the way to Simon, son of Onias (high priest in the early C3rd BCE), just as the creative work of Jesus is noted in the Nicene Creed (“through him all things were made”, so his salvific work is also briefly described (“for us [all] and for our salvation he came down from heaven“).
These fleeting references draw on the way in which scripture has used the Wisdom literature— although, of course, all four Gospels and many Epistles note the forgiving, saving, delivering work of Jesus. It is, in fact, the bedrock of the developing patristic theology of the time between the New Testament and the early Ecumenical Councils.
This year, 2025, marks 1700 years since the Council of Nicaea was held. The Council was called by the Roman emperor Constantine; he invited bishops (local church leaders) from around the Roman Empire, to meet in in his imperial palace in Nicaea, Bythinia (in modern-day Turkey).
Those bishops met in council from May to July in 325CE. The traditional account of the Council was that 318 bishops attended; most came from eastern churches, with only a small number from western churches. Despite this lopsided representation, the council is known as the first of a series of Ecumenical Councils, allegedly representing the worldwide church.
The end result of the Council was a Creed which bears the name of the meeting place: the Nicene Creed. Half a century later, this creed was expanded at the Council of Constantinople in 381 CE—another council called by the Roman emperor, who was by then Theodosius.
Icon depicting Constantine the Great, accompanied by some of the bishops of the First Council of Nicaea (325), holding the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed of 381. First line of main text in Greek: Πιστεύω εἰς ἕνα Θ[εό]ν, πατέρα παντοκράτορα, ποιητὴν οὐρανοῦ κ[αὶ] γῆς. Translation: “I believe in one God, the Father the Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.”
What came from this council was the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed came to be widely adopted as a foundational expression of the Christian faith. Although various elements in the creed have been interpreted in a variety of ways, it has featured in the ancient churches of the East and the West, and in more recent centuries of the North and South.
Where does this creed come from? There are some passages in scripture which have a “credal-like” quality. Might consideration of those sections of scripture lead us to understand what drove those fourth century bishops to formulate such a creed? I begin by considering two relevant passages where the early “credal-like” statement is very short.
First: Corinth
The starting point for me would be in an early New Testament document, the first (extant) letter to the Corinthians, which Paul and Sosthenes wrote to the community of faith in Corinth in the middle of the fifth century (as we count time).
Paul and Sosthenes wrote addressing a situation where factionalism, dubious morality, unrestrained chaos in worship, theological divisions, and differing approaches to cultural practices threatened the very existence of a cohesive faith community. Seeking a common denominator that all could commit to and focus on as their bedrock, they proposed “Jesus is Lord” (1 Cor 12:3) as a foundational affirmation.
A contemporary imagining of Paul and Sosthenes
This confession describes Jesus using a term with significance in Hebrew Scripture (“who is God except the Lord?”, Ps 18:31). Later commentators have observed that within the Roman imperial context, the Emperor functioned in the manner of a Lord—although the precise claim that Christians were forced to say “Caesar is Lord” is not substantiated by any extant ancient document.
So the first credal statement in the early years of the movement that Jesus initiated was born in the midst of conflict, as a way to bring cohesion and unity. We know, however, from subsequent correspondence involving believers in Corinth (letters known as 2 Corinthians and 1 Clement) that this rhetorical effort was a failure; conflict and divisions continued within the community throughout the remainder of the first century CE. Later, at the Council of Nicaea, the tile “Lord” was applied both to Jesus (“the m
Next: Caesarea Philippi
Nevertheless, other writers in that early Jesus movement adopted a similar strategy, writing short, succinct statements which they believed would serve to unite disparate factions. In the earliest extant written account of the public activities of Jesus, Simon Peter tells Jesus, “you are the Messiah” (Mark 8:29). This was a simple Jewish affirmation, referring to one who had been anointed for a task as a prophet. We have indications of this for Elisha (1 Ki 19:16) and for an unnamed post-exilic prophet (Isa 61:1).
An imaginative depiction of David being anointed as king
Anointing was also used in the installation of kings: Saul (1 Sam 10:1–2; 15:7), David (1 Sam 16:13, in Israel; 2 Sam 2:1–7, in Judah; 5:1–5, 17; 12:7; 23:1, over all Israel), Solomon (1 Ki 1:38–40, 45), Jehu (2 Ki 9:1–3, 6, 12), Joash (2 Ki 11:12), Jehoahaz (2 Ki 23:30), and all of David’s descendants (Ps 18:50; 45:7; 89:20–21, 38–39, 49–51; 132:10, 17).
Drawing from this Jewish heritage to make this confession makes sense, given that Jesus and Simon Peter were both Jewish men, and the incident that provoked this response by Peter took place on Jewish land—amongst “the villages of Caesarea Philippi”, on the northernmost edge of Israel.
A later writer took this confession—another very early creed, if you like—and expanded it just a little. “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God”, Peter declares, in Matthew’s version of the incident (Matt 16:16).
Messiah in Hebrew
Just as “Messiah” was a well-known term in Hebrew Scripture, so too “living God” is applied to the God of Israel in narratives (Deut 5:26; Josh 3:10; 1 Sam 17:26, 36; 2 Ki 19:4, 16, repeated at Isa 37:4, 16), prophets (Jer 10:10; 23:36; Dan 6:20, 26; Hos 1:10), and in psalms (Ps 42:2; 82:2). The use of a scriptural title to describe the significance of Jesus is thus an early credal affirmation.
The scriptural title of Messiah appears in the Nicene Creed in the Greek equivalent, Christ, when the second part of the creed is introduced: “We believe in one Lord Jesus Christ”, before proceeding to use other terms for the exalted nature of Jesus as “eternally begotten of the Father; God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God; begotten not made, one in being with the Father”. These phrases are taken from parts of scripture that are not credal as such, but which reflect on the nature of Jesus in a developed theological manner. We will explore them in later posts.
How do we know about religion in the ancient world? We get lots of information from writers of the time, who either write explicitly about the religions being practised, or include material in their work that offers insights. The Old Testament contains Torah and associated literature which tells us about the development of Israelite religion and then Judaism, while the New Testament tells us about the formative period of Christianity.
Beyond those sacred texts Jewish literature continues into the rabbinic period, probing and exploring every dimension of Torah, while Christian writers of the centuries after Jesus write and debate, documenting liturgies and formulating doctrine. A whole host of pagan writers across all those time periods reveal insights into both of these religions as well into as the array of gods and goddesses who were worshipped in ancient times. We have a wealth of information!
Alongside these writers, however, there are many inscriptions from the ancient world which give us direct access into the religious world of the day. These are, by their nature, localised, individualised, focussed, even fragmentary; yet the collective set of insights from such inscriptions, alongside the written literature, deepens and widens our understanding. Here’s a brief glimpse of what we might learn.
Erecting a plaque in church is a modern phenomenon; the same was done back in antiquity. There are many instances of inscriptions found in archaeological sites in the Mediterranean region. Hellenistic inscriptions abound, serving a range of purposes—including the dedication of a holy space to a designated God, as well as a note indicating who the primary benefactor was for the erection of such a building. Letters were chiselled into a stone block before it was then attached to the wall of the temple. They were sturdy when made, and so have lasted over the centuries.
1. Temple Inscriptions
Inscriptions in pagan temples are useful for indicating the particular deity being worshipped. They usually include the name of the god or goddess who is worshipped in this space, and the name of the benefactor(s) who funded the erection of the inscription (or the whole building). In many cases, the deity is addressed with a twofold name—one indicating a Greek or Roman deity, the other either a name indicating function or a name of a local deity (in another language) who has become attached to the Greek or Roman deity.
A simple example is the Priene Inscription of Alexander the Great. This is an early dedicatory inscription made by Alexander in about 330 BCE. It was discovered at the Temple of Athena Polias in Priene, in modern Turkey, during an 1868–69 archaeological exploration of Priene. It is inscribed on both sides. It reads, quite simply:
King Alexander dedicated the Temple to Athena Polias.
In this inscription, Polias is derived from polis, city, and so the dedication is most likely to Athena, protector of the city.
2. Inscriptions in Dura—Europos
Dura—Europos was a Hellenistic settlement on the eastern edge of Alexander’s empire, in the middle Euphrates. Numerous archaeological remains were discovered in the 1920s and brought to Yale University, where a special room houses numerous inscriptions and building remains. (It was in this room that I did my graduate seminar in Epigraphy, learning how to document and translate Ancient Greek inscriptions.)
There are many temples in the city, with inscriptions dedicating those various buildings to a range of deities. It is because of these inscriptions that we know who was worshipped in each building: Zeus Theos, Zeus Megistos, Zeus Kyrios, Atargatis, Artemis Nanaia, Artemis Azzanathkona, Adonis, Tychaios, Bel, and Aphlad. There was one other temple to an unidentified deity. People were very religious at that time! The twofold names on some inscriptions reflect either a function (Theos = god, Megistos = great, Kyrios = lord) or a local deity (Nanaia was the Mesopotamian goddess of fertility; Azzanathkona was a Semitic goddess, unknown in any place other than Dura—Europos).
There was also a Jewish synagogue (with highly decorated artwork on its walls), a temple co-dedicated to Jupiter Dolichenus )with one room dedicated to Turmasgade and another room dedicated to Juno Dolichena), a Mithraeum, place where Mithras was worshipped (a bull-shaped deity who was popular amongst Roman soldiers), and a Citadel Temple of Zeus, the official worship space for the Roman troops stationed there.
In the 2nd century BCE, while Dura—Europos was under Parthian control, a certain Alexander raised a dedicatory inscription in Greek for a renovated temple. His father had originally built it, but Roman soldiers had stolen its doors, thereby prompting Alexander to replace them and enlarge the temple itself.
In this inscription Alexander initially described himself as Alexander, son of Epinikos, but he subsequently called himself Ammaios, this same Alexander. Alexander is a Greek name—presumably his birth name—whilst Ammaios is a Semitic name.
The dedication is to Artemis, Greek goddess of the hunt and sister of Apollo, who is also given the name Azzanathkona, a Semitic goddess otherwise unknown. One leading scholar identifies her with Atargatis, a fertility goddess in Syria. So it seems that this inscription indicates that Alexander, with origins in a Greek-speaking area, had been sent east to Dura (perhaps as a soldier?), become enculturated over time (maybe even married a local woman, as many soldiers did), and adopted a local name, Ammaios, as well as becoming a devotee of a local goddess, Azzanathkona. All this from one inscription!
Aerial view of Dura—Europos, taken from the east. Yale University, 1997
3. Jerusalem Temple Inscription
Jews also made and erected inscriptions. In Jerusalem, there was an inscription of seven lines that was placed outside the sanctuary of the Second Temple, warning Gentiles not to proceed any further. It is dated between 23 BCE and 70 CE. It was found in 1871 just outside the Gate to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. Some letters still contain traces of the red paint that would have highlighted the whole text.
No stranger is to enter / within the balustrade round / the temple and / enclosure. Whoever is caught / will be himself responsible / for his ensuing / death.
4. Synagogue Inscriptions
Synagogues also include inscriptions, some identifying the purpose of the building or the name of the benefactor who paid for its building. The Theodotus Inscription is a well-known example. It has ten lines, 75cm x 41cm, and was found in 1913 in a dig in Wadi Hilweh, in East Jerusalem. It was erected by Theodotus, the patron and leader of the synagogue. The inscription identifies him as benefactor and gives details of the whole building complex; it’s an important insight into the fact that ancient synagogues were not just places of worship and teaching, but also places of hospitality for visitors.
Theodotos son of Vettenus, priest / and head of the synagogue (archisynágōgos), son of a head of the synagogue, / and grandson of a head of the synagogue, / built the synagogue / for the reading of the law and for the teaching of the commandments, / as well as the guest room, the chambers, / and the water fittings as an inn / for those in need from abroad, the synagogue which his fathers / founded with the elders / and Simonides.
5. Christian inscriptions.
There are Christian inscriptions in church spaces that have been excavated, increasing in numbers over the centuries. The Akeptous Inscription is one of a number of inscriptions found in the mosaic floor of a 3rd century church. It was discovered in 2005 while digging inside the Megiddo Prison in Israel. There are six lines in this simple inscription:
A gift / of Akeptous, / she who loves God, / this table [is] / for God Jesus Christ, / a memorial.
This reminds me of many churches where I have been, where a small plaque is placed outside the building, marking its opening.
There are also many churches that have plaques inside; such a plaque may indicate that it was erected in memory of a named person, and it can be attached to the the wall, the communion table, a chair in the sanctuary, a lectern, or even (as in the case where I currently worship) the light switch that turns on the light behind the central cross!
6. Women in Jewish synagogue inscriptions.
Scholar Bernadette Brootten wrote a groundbreaking book, Women Leaders in the Ancient Synagogue: Inscriptional Evidence and Background Issues (published in 1982). Brooten identified nineteen Greek and Latin inscriptions that name women with the titles “head of the synagogue,” “leader,” “elder,” “mother of the synagogue,” and “priestess”.
The inscriptions have been found by archaeologists in synagogues from the Roman and Byzantine periods; they range in date from 27 BCE to the sixth century CE and were found in Italy, Asia Minor, Egypt, and Palestine. So they cover a broad range of dates and locations.
Brootten argues that in these inscriptions the women leaders are not simply “honorary” leaders (as some dismissively claim); she considers that they identify actual leaders, who had specific leadership functions. For instance, a white marble sepulchral plaque from Gortyn in Crete dating to the 4th or 5th century CE remembers Sofia:
Sofia of Gortyn, elder (presbytera) and head of the synagogue (archisynagōgissa) of Kissamos [lies] here. The memory of the righteous one for ever. Amen.
Centuries earlier, a second-century CE inscription from Smyrna mentions a woman named Rufina who was a synagogue ruler. The inscription reads:
Rufina, a Jewess synagogue ruler (archisynagōgos), built this tomb for her freed slaves and the slaves raised in her household. No one else has a right to bury anyone here.
In the inscriptions found and discussed by Brootten, there are three Greek inscriptions in which women have the title archisynagōgos or archisynagōgissa (arch– plus “an element formed from the institution over which the officer stands, in this case the synagogue”).
In another inscription, Peristeria is called archēgissa, “leader.” Six ancient Greek inscriptions have been found in which women carry the title “elder” (presbytera or presbyterēsa) and one in which a woman is called presbytis. Women are called “mothers of the synagogue” in six Greek and Latin inscriptions and “priest” (hierea or hierissa) in three Jewish inscriptions.
Brootten also notes that various biblical references, as well as writings from Jewish historian Josephus and rabbinic teachings, indicate that Jewish women were present and often prominent in synagogues, and they did not sit separately from men. She reviews the reports of quite a number of archaeological sites where synagogues existed, and concludes that “the vast majority of ancient synagogues in Israel do not seem to have possessed a gallery, and there is no archaeological or literary reason to assume that side rooms were for women”.
Likewise, she notes that “there is no Diaspora synagogue in which a strong archaeological case can be made for a women’s gallery or a separate women’s section. The analogy of a separate room as a woman’s section in modern synagogues is anachronistic.” That puts paid to separation by gender in synagogues in antiquity.
Brootten’s work is important for understanding the biblical stories of Lydia, who appears to have been the leader of a synagogue (“place of prayer”) in Philippi (Acts 16:13–15) and quite a number of other women who are identified as leaders of faith communities in Acts: Priscilla in Ephesus (18:26), Tabitha in Joppa (9:36), Mary the mother of John Mark in Jerusalem (12:12), and possibly Damaris in Athens (17:34); as well as women so identified in the letters of Paul: Phoebe in Cenchraea (Rom 16:1–2), Prisca (and Aquila) in Ephesus (1 Cor 16:19) and also in Rome (Rom 16:3–5), Euodia and Syntyche in Philippi (Phil 4:2), Apphia (with Philemon and Archippus) in Colossae (Phlm 1), Nympha in Colossae (Col 4:15), and possibly Chloe in Corinth (1 Cor 1:11) and Junia in Rome (Rom 16:7); and 2 John (“the elect lady”).
In the book of Revelation, we are invited into a world of unfettered imagination, with evocative imagery, enticing language, and disturbing rhetoric. The whole book comes from words spoken by “one like the Son of Man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash across his chest” (Rev 1:13). Clearly, it is a vision of the glorified Jesus Christ, now conveying his “revelations” to John, who is instructed to write letters to seven churches (in chapters 2—3) and then to detail a series of amazing visions (in chapter 4 onwards to the end of the book).
Each vision contains graphic descriptions and dramatic happenings. The first of these visions (proposed for this coming Sunday in the Narrative Lectionary Summer Series for this year) sets the scene set for what will later be revealed as a colossal, cosmic battle between good and evil.
It opens with the striking claim that the door into heaven is opened (4:1). A disturbing and increasingly detailed dramatization of “what must take place after this” is revealed. The vision comes to a climax with an image of a slaughtered lamb (5:11–14), which is the passage set in the Narrative Lectionary for a week after this coming Sunday.
Gazing into heaven, the author views a magnificent scene of worship. The importance of this scene is signalled by gleaming jewels and a shining rainbow, golden crowns and white robes, thrones and torches of fire, a sea of glass, grumbling thunder and flashes of lightning (4:3–6).
Thunder and lightning were characteristic of the God of Israel. In the book of Job, Elihu praises God, describing “the thunder of his voice and the rumbling that comes from his mouth … his voice roars; he thunders with his majestic voice” (Job 37:1–5). The psalmist sings of “voice of the Lord over the waters” which thunders with powerful and is “full of majesty” as it “breaks the cedars of Lebanon … flashes forth flames of fire … shakes the wilderness of Kadesh … causes the oaks to whirl, and strips the forest bare” (Ps 29:3–9).
Thunder and lightning were associated with the foundational event of Israel, in the Exodus from Egypt. David sang of how the Lord God “thundered from heaven; sent out arrows, and scattered them—lightning, and routed them; then the channels of the sea were seen, the foundations of the world were laid bare at the rebuke of the Lord, at the blast of the breath of his nostrils” (2 Sam 22:14–16; Ps 18:13–19). The same graphic descriptions occur at Ps 77:16–20.
In the book of Exodus, the scene at Mount Sinai includes thunder and lightning, a thick cloud, the blast of a trumpet, the shaking of the mountain and a spreading haze of smoke from the burning fire, an intensifying of the trumpet blast and peals of thunder (Exod 19:16–19). This was the setting for Moses’ encounter with the Lord, when (according to the story passed on through the generations) the foundation of Torah was laid. The biblical nature of the imagery is very clear; these are all associated with an encounter with the divine.
Twenty-four elders and four six-winged creatures sing praises to “one seated on the throne” (4:2–11), and to a slaughtered lamb “with seven horns and seven eyes” (5:1–14). The hymns they sing in chapters 4, 5, and 7 appear to combine attributes of God which feature in scriptural songs of praise (holy, worthy, glory, honour, power, creator) as well as elements familiar from other New Testament texts in which early Christian thinking is developing. The twenty-four elders, sitting on thrones (4:4), along with the seven spirits (4:5; see also 1:4; 3:1) represent numbers of great symbolism throughout scripture, if we consider the twenty-four to comprise two lots of twelve.
The four living creatures each have a distinctive facial feature: “the first living creature like a lion, the second living creature like an ox, the third living creature with a face like a human face, and the fourth living creature like a flying eagle” (4:7). These four creatures allude to the chariot vision which opens the book of Ezekiel, in which the prophet sees four such creatures, with “the face of a human being, the face of a lion on the right side, the face of an ox on the left side, and the face of an eagle” (Ezek 4:10). These creatures emerge out of the midst of “
“a great cloud with brightness around it and fire flashing forth continually, and in the middle of the fire, something like gleaming amber” (Ezek 4:4), later revealed to be a magnificent chariot (Ezek 4:15–28), on which sat “something that seemed like a human form” (v.26).
Jesus is depicted in this book as “one like the Son of Man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash across his chest” (Rev 1:13). He is the supreme authority, the one who has risen from the dead and is at one with God (1:18). Yet there is a stark counterpoint running throughout the whole book. Jesus is the one who has been pierced (1:7); perhaps this evokes the piercing of Jesus’ side as he hung on the cross (John 19:34–37, citing this as a fulfillment of Zech 12:10).
In this initial vision, the Lord God Almighty is seated on the throne, surrounded by four six-winged creatures (4:2–11), perhaps reminiscent also of the six-winged seraphim seen by Isaiah in his vision in the temple (Isa 6:1–2). The one on the throne is holding a scroll with seven seals, which no one was able to open (5:1–4). These seals form the basis for the sequence of visions in 6:1—8:1, culminating in the vision of seven angels holding seven trumpets (8:2), yet another angel burning incense (8:3–4), and the inevitable “peals of thunder, rumblings, flashes of lightning, and an earthquake” (8:5). The markers of the divine are evident once more.
The author continues on, to introduce the one who has power to open the scroll: “the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David” (5:5)—phrases which clearly evoke the Davidic lineage of Jesus which the Gospel writers have so carefully claimed. (The same Davidic lineage is noted at 22:16.) Immediately, and despite the magnificent splendour of the scene being described, with its many dazzling jewels and angelic creatures, this “Lion” is described as a “Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered” (5:6).
This paradoxical description of Jesus as “the Lamb that was slaughtered” recurs in hymns later in the book (5:9, 13; 13:8). His victory has been won, not through the power of force, but by submission to death. It seems that it is the fact that he has been slain which qualifies him to open the scroll. His power lies in his avoidance of violence, his submission to death.
This theme is the power that this strange book from a distant past offers us in the turmoil of the present. Our world today—as, indeed, the world time and time again over the centuries—is beset by conflict, aggression, and devastating warfare. Mass starvation and the killing of civilians in Gaza; a genocide, many now (rightly) say. Decades of terrorist activity and the exercise of military power in Israel, the West Bank, Gaza, and surrounding nations. An entrenched military battle on many fronts in the Ukraine, bogged down in the ego of a long-term tyrant. Ethnic violence and long-enduring civil warfare in the Sudan. Armed uprisings in the Congo. A civil war in Myanmar following the 2021 military coup. The list could go on to cover many–far too many–places.
The Geneva Academy of International Humanitarian Law (an institute of the University of Geneva) is monitoring more than 110 armed conflicts which are currently active across the globe. It’s a sad testimony to human greed for power, and to the seemingly endless capacity to inflict terrible damage on others.
The Way of the Lamb is a way that turns away from conflict as a means to resolve differences. In 1982, the National Assembly of my church (the Uniting Church in Australia) passed a resolution declaring “that God came in the crucified and risen Christ to make peace; that he calls all Christians to be peacemakers, to save life, to heal and to love their neighbours. The call of Christ to make peace is the norm, and the onus of proof rests on any who resort to military force as a means of solving international disputes.”
It reiterated this affirmation some decades later, in 2003, when the Assembly further declared that “that the Church is committed to be a peacemaking body”. This is central to who we are as a faith community. Many other church denominations around the world have similar resolutions marking a similar commitment. Pope John XXIII had issued his encyclical “Pacem in Terris” in 1963. Yet wars snd conflicts have continued. More recently, Pope Francis issued a “Prayer for Peace” in which he invited the faithful to pray, “Renew our hearts and minds, so that the word which always brings us together will be “brother”, and our way of life will always be that of: Shalom, Peace, Salaam!”. Pope Leo XIV prayed for peace in the Middle East and in other conflicted areas. The church yearns for peace. Too many leaders perpetuate antagonism, foment conflict, engender wars.
We need to recapture the central element of the way of discipleship as a commitment to the way of peace, as we seek to follow Jesus in our contemporary world. This is the vision of Revelation. May it be that, as we hear again of the door in heaven standing open, and the vision of the “Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered”, we recommit to praying for peace, living in a peaceable way, and writing to our political representatives urging them to withdraw support for any armed conflict (including the withdrawal of arms and financial support for those perpetrating aggression).
Tabitha (also known as Dorcas) is an unlikely role model for disciples. There is no record of her preaching the Gospel, or casting out demons; and no direct statement that she was hosting a house church or offering hospitality; although she did make clothing for widows and this could be seen as an act of hospitality, perhaps. Rather, Tabitha is known simply for the fact that she was a disciple who was “devoted to good works and acts of charity” (Acts 9:36, NRSVUE translation).
Quite strikingly, she is a woman who is named (a striking feature, as many women in scripture go unnamed); and we are given her name in two languages, Aramaic and Greek. It is possible that Tabitha is derived from Tsibiah, the name of the mother of King Jehoash (1 Ki 12:1). So Tabitha is worth remembering. Mostly, however, she is remembered for the fact she had fallen ill and had died; when Peter and two other disciples came to Joppa, where she lived, she was brought back to life (9:37, 40–41).
A depiction of Tabitha, from the work of James C. Lewis
Whilst this may mean that Tabitha exemplified the pathway that Jesus trod (into death, then back to life), she is not put forward as an example of that paradigmatic pattern (which Paul, for instance, sees as fundamental; see 1 Cor 15:3–4; Rom 6:3–8, 11; 2 Cor 4:8–11; Gal 2:19–20; Phil 3:10–11). Why, then, is this story included in Acts? Tabitha is part of a group of stories that form a crucial pivot in the storyline of Acts, from the time of the church in Jerusalem (chs.1—7) to the activity amongst the Gentiles (chs.13 onwards) that begins to spread the good news “to the ends of the earth” (cf. Acts 1:8).
The way that Tabitha is introduced may well serve to point to her ultimate significance in this book which records various incidents because of their foundational importance for Christian faith and life. In the very first verse, Tabitha is praised for “doing good works” and performing “acts of charity”. This is reminiscent of the introductions offered for a number of other characters, all valued for their piety and the good things that they did (not just “what they believed”).
Good works and acts of charity
Elizabeth and Zechariah, at the start of Luke’s Gospel, are described as “righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord” (Luke 1:6). They did what was considered to be good, performing the acts of charity required by Torah. Simeon is introduced as a man who was “righteous and devout” (Luke 2:25) whilst Anna “never left the temple but worshiped there with fasting and prayer night and day” (Luke 2:37). They too did what is good, as they adhered to Torah. And in Acts, immediately after the story of Tabitha, we meet Cornelius, “a devout man who feared God with all his household; he gave alms generously to the people and prayed constantly to God” (Acts 10:2). Cornelius is yet another example of someone who did good.
So Tabitha “was devoted to good works and acts of charity” (Acts 9:34). Often these terms are viewed through a narrow lens, based on a hardline reading of Paul’s affirmation that “a person is justified not by the works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ … we [are] justified by faith in Christ, and not by doing the works of the law, because no one will be justified by the works of the law” (Gal 3:26). He offers a similarly strenuous affirmation along these lines at Rom 3:24–25, 28–30, followed by his detailed argument that Abraham was justified by his faith, and not by any “works of the law” (such as circumcision; see Rom 4:1–25).
This Pauline focus on “faith, not works” generated a negative attitude towards “doing good”. This came to full fruition amongst the Reformers, when they rejected the medieval Roman Catholic system of indulgences (accruing merit in the eyes of God through the support of charitable works, amongst other things) and declared that “doing good” and “charitable works” were of a lesser value than “simply believing” and “having faith in Jesus”. From this perspective, amongst more recent Protestant churches, a healthy disdain for these good deeds has developed. Good works were not “the heart of the Gospel”. Tabitha would hardly be seen by them as a role model for a faithful disciple.
Doing good
Yet “doing good” and performing “charitable deeds” are valued as positive and advocated as necessary by many voices in scripture. Prophets instructed the people of Israel to “learn to do good, seek justice” (Isa 1:17; see also Isa 41:23; Jer 4:22), following the example of the Lord God who does good (Micah 2:7; Zech 8:15). Psalmists sang a refrain to “depart from evil, and do good” (Ps 34:14; 37:27) and to “trust in the Lord and do good” (Ps 37:3), once again following the example set by the Lord God, who is acknowledged in this manner: “you are good and you do good” (Ps 119:68).
Similar advice appears in later Jewish literature. In the story of Tobit, the angel Raphael in the guise of “brother Azariah” instructs Tobit and his son Tobias to “do good and evil will not overtake you” (Tob 12:7), whilst in Ben Sirach Wisdom herself advises, “if you do good, know to whom you do it, and you will be thanked for your good deeds. Do good to the devout, and you will be repaid—if not by them, certainly by the Most High” (Sir 12:1–2). Wisdom also offers advice to “do good to friends before you die, and reach out and give to them as much as you can” (Sir 14:13).
This focus on “doing good” continues throughout Second Temple Judaism. As this period draws to a close, Jesus himself instructs his followers to “love your enemies, do good to those who hate you” (Luke 6:27), reminding them that “if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you?” (Luke 6:33). He further reinforces these instructions with the words “love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return” (Luke 6:35).
Jesus extends the image of the tree bearing fruit first spoken by John (Luke 3:8–9) with his teaching that “no good tree bears bad fruit, nor again does a bad tree bear good fruit; for each tree is known by its own fruit”, noting that “the good person out of the good treasure of the heart produces good” (Luke 6:43–45). The commitment to “doing good” which is seen in prophets, psalms, and wisdom writings, is expressly affirmed also by Jesus.
Furthermore, in Matthew’s Gospel Jesus declares that “not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven” (Matt 7:21). He tells his disciples they are “the light of the world” and then says, “let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works” (Matt 5:14-16). Later in that Gospel, he makes it clear that those doing this “will of my Father” by performing “good works” are those who feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome strangers, clothe the naked, take care of the sick, and visit those in prison (Matt 25:35–36).
This, of course, itself draws on the guidance provided by the post-exilic prophet whose words are included in the book of Isaiah, posing the rhetorical question about “the true fast”: does it not include, amongst other things, “to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?” (Isa 58:6–7). And this is how Peter remembers Jesus when he preaches to Gentiles in Caesarea about “how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power; how he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him” (Acts 10:38).
Followers of Jesus who wrote letters to encourage and instruct other followers in the next few decades repeat the same instruction: “see that none of you repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to all” (1 Thess 5:15); “do not neglect to do good and to share what you have” (Heb 13:16); “let those suffering in accordance with God’s will entrust themselves to a faithful Creator, while continuing to do good” (1 Pet 4:19).
Even Paul notes that “to those who by patiently doing good seek for glory and honor and immortality, he will give eternal life” (Rom 2:7), while a later writer of the first century CE evoking the authority of Paul includes amongst the requisite qualities of a widow that she is “well attested for her good works, as one who has brought up children, shown hospitality, washed the saints’ feet, helped the afflicted, and devoted herself to doing good in every way” (1 Tim 5:10). Finally, another letter writer concludes that “it is better to suffer for doing good, if suffering should be God’s will, than to suffer for doing evil” (1 Pet 3:17). “Doing good” is a persistent biblical motif.
Acts of charity
Closely related to this is the statement that Tabitha was known as one who performed “acts of charity” (Acts 9:36). This, too, is a strong biblical theme. The word translated by the NRSVUE as “acts of charity” is ἐλεημοσυνῶν (eleēmosunōn), which derives from the root word meaning “to have mercy”—a quality that is advocated for at various places in scripture. In other translations, it is rendered “almsdeeds” (KJV, ASB), “acts of mercy” (WEB), “compassionate acts” (CEB), or “helping the poor” (GNB, NIV).
Mercy was a quality seen in God by the Israelite prophets. Isaiah declared that “the Lord waits to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show mercy to you, for the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him” (Isa 30:18). Hosea says that the Lord promises Israel, “I will take you for my wife in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love, and in mercy” (Hos 2:19).
Jeremiah tells the returning exiles that God has said, “Is Ephraim my dear son? Is he the child I delight in? As often as I speak against him, I still remember him. Therefore I am deeply moved for him; I will surely have mercy on him” (Jer 31:20). and Habakkuk prays, “in wrath may you remember mercy” (Hab 3:2). And in a recurring song various writers affirm that “the Lord is gracious and merciful” (Joel 2:13; and see Exod 34:6; Num 14:18; Neh 9:17b; Ps 145:8–9; Jonah 4:2; as well as 2 Kings 13:23; 2 Chron 30:9).
Many psalms contain an indication that God was seen to be merciful (Ps 69:16; 86:15; 103:8; 111:4; 116:5; 119:156; 145:8) and a number of times, the psalmist prays “be merciful to me, O God” (Ps 57:1), “be mindful of your mercy” (Ps 25:6), “do not, O Lord, withhold your mercy from me” (Ps 40:11), or simply “have mercy on me” (Ps 51:1) or “on us” (Ps 123:3). Of course, in Christian tradition, it is the simple prayer, “Lord, have mercy”, that draws on this tradition; and in the original Greek, kyrie eleison, the verb is derived from the same root word found at Acts 9:36 (“acts of charity”, eleēmosunōn).
It is mercy for which the prophets consistently advocated. Zechariah declared that the Lord is instructing Israel, “render true judgments, show kindness and mercy [hesed] to one another; do not oppress the widow, the orphan, the alien, or the poor; and do not devise evil in your hearts against one another” (Zech 7:9–10). Micah asked his potent question, and then answered, “to do justice, to love mercy [hesed] ” (Mic 6:8). Hosea offered this clear summation: “I desire mercy [hesed], not sacrifice” (Hos 6:6).
It is this last saying that Jesus twice quotes (Matt 9:13; 12:7), both times in rabbinic-style disputations with scribes and Pharisees. This usage indicates that he saw this text as a proof text which could be used to conclude such argumentative debates. He continues the prophetic commitment to “doing mercy” in everyday life. In the final amd most aggressive interaction between Jesus and these Torah teachers, he berates them for their skewed priorities, and identifies “justice and mercy and faith” as “the weightier matters of the law” (Matt 23:23).
In the same Gospel of Matthew, Jesus affirms that the merciful are blessed, “for they will receive mercy” (Matt 5:7), and concludes his parable of the unforgiving servant by having the master declare to him, “should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?” (Matt 18:33).
Then, in telling a much-loved parable found only in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus responds to the lawyer wondering “who is my neighbour?” by telling a story about a wounded man and three passers-by, and ending with the question, “who do you think was the neighbour?”—to which the lawyer declares, “the one who showed him mercy” (Luke 10:37). Luke, of course, had highlighted the quality of God’s mercy in the songs that appear in the opening chaps of his Gospel (Luke 1:50, 54, 58, 72, 78).
Finally, James the brother of Jesus offers a succinct summation of the importance of mercy: “mercy triumphs over judgement” (James 2:13), while the short letter of Jude concludes by adjuring those who hear it to “have mercy on some who are wavering … and have mercy on still others with fear” (Jude 22–23). Mercy, as a quality which is evident in the lives of followers of Jesus, continues as a clear theme in the works written by his followers.
However, perhaps the weight of understanding of what “mercy” means as Christians read the New Testament has shifted to a sense of mercy as “loving forgiveness and acceptance”, whether by God or by others, rather than mercy as “acts performed in love to assist people in need”.
Tabitha (or Dorcas)
So, to return to Tabitha (or Dorcas), “the gazelle” (which is what her names means, both in Aramaic and in Greek): she was a disciple who was known for the fact that she was “devoted to good works and acts of charity” (Acts 9:36). She was a faithful, diligent, compassionate person, attending to the scriptural injunction, repeated and reinforced by Jesus, to “do good” and to carry out “acts of charity” in the knowledge that the Lord God “desires mercy, not sacrifice”.
The lectionary continues to offer us passages from epistles attributed to Paul. After working our way through Galatians—which Paul, I believe, most definitely did write—this coming Sunday we continue the sequence of passages from Colossians, which I am not convinced was written by Paul, even though the letter claims that it was written by Paul (Col 1:1).
The passage for this coming Sunday (1:15–28) is one of the places in this letter where there are significant theological developments beyond the theology found in the seven “authentic” letters of Paul: Romans, 1 & 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, and Philemon (this order, by the way, moves from the longest to the shortest of these letters).
The letter has begun with the expected words of greeting (1:1–2) and prayer of thanksgiving (1:3–8). The prayer morphs into a prayer of intercession for the Colossians (1:9–12), cycling back into an expression of thanks to “the Father” (1:12) for what he has done through “his beloved Son” (1:13–14). All of this adheres to the pattern that is found in most of Paul’s letters (although Galatians has omitted any thanksgiving from the beginning of the letter—Paul is too angry with them!).
This thanksgiving for the Son then morphs seamlessly (in the original Greek, there is no sentence break) into an extended affirmation about Jesus, “the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation … the head of the body, the church … the beginning, the firstborn from the dead …[in whom] all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell” (1:15–20).
This is quite an extension to the expression of thanks; the sentence in Greek actually begins in v.9 and continues through multiple subordinate clauses to v.20! It has a lovely structure beauty, which is clearly evident in the Greek text; not so much, unfortunately, in most English translations. (Indeed, it is nigh-impossible to convey the structure in a poetic manner in a language other than the original.) The best structure exposition I have found of it looks like this:
The structure of Col 1:15–20, as outlined by Andrew Fountain in “The song hidden in Colossians”, Newlife Church Toronto; see https://nlife.ca/audio/colossians-pt4
This poetic passage also stands as significant theological affirmation. It offers a relatively early consideration of “the person and work of Jesus Christ”, a crucial theme which later systematic theology writers would explore and develop, using this and other passages of scripture as foundations for a complex and intricate affirmation of this key element of Christian faith.
The main thrust of this passage can best be understood by giving consideration to the way this it draws on Jewish elements—specifically, the Wisdom material found in parts of Hebrew Scripture. Jesus is portrayed very much in the manner of Lady Wisdom, as we encounter her in scripture in Proverbs 8, and then in the deuterocanonical works of Ben Sirach (Ecclesiaticus) and the Wisdom of Solomon. In Colossians, of course, the attributes of the female Wisdom are applied directly to the male Jesus.
Jesus is here described as the agent of God’s creative powers: “in him all things in heaven and on earth were created … all things have been created through him and for him” (Col 1:16). In the same way, in Proverbs Wisdom herself is said to have declared that “ages ago I was set up, at the first, before the beginning of the earth … when [the Lord] established the heavens, I was there … when he marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside him, like a master worker” (Prov 8:22–31).
The creative power of Wisdom
In the Wisdom of Solomon, Wisdom is described as “the fashioner of all things” (Wisd Sol 7:22), “a breath of the power of God” who “pervades and penetrates all things”(7:24–25), who was “present when you [God] made the world” (9:9), whose “immortal spirit is in all things” (12:1).
Jesus, son of Sirach, declares that “Wisdom was created before all other things” (Sir 1:4), that at the very first she “came forth from the mouth of the Most High, and covered the earth like a mist” (Sir 24:3), and “compassed the vault of heaven and traversed the depths of the abyss” (24:5) as she undertook her creative works, distinguishing one day from another and appointing “the different seasons and festivals” (33:7–8).
Jesus Christ, as the one who is “before all things” (Col 1:17), reiterates what Wisdom declared, that “before the mountains had been shaped, before the hills, I was brought forth—when [the Lord] had not yet made earth and fields, or the world’s first bits of soil” (Prov 8:25–26).
So Jesus is the one who has “first place in everything” (Col 1:18), just as the works of Wisdom can be traced “from the beginning of creation” (Wisdom Sol 6:22). The importance of these Wisdom writings for what is stated in Col 1 is clear. (The same writings underpin the theological affirmations made about Jesus in Heb 1:1–4 and John 1:1–18.)
The passage in Colossians also indicates that believers are “transferred … into the kingdom of [God’s] beloved son” (Col 1:13); they are rescued (1:13) and redeemed (1:14) by the work of Jesus. In similar fashion, the Wisdom of Solomon contains a long section praising Wisdom who was actively involved in human affairs from when “she delivered him [Adam] from his transgression” (Wisd Sol 10:1), saved the people at the Exodus, and guided the Conquest and settlement in the land. It was Wisdom who punished the Canaanites (12:3–11), sinful Israelites (12:19–22), and the Egyptians (12:23–27), as well as all idolators (13:1—14:31). A similarly lengthy poem praising the works of Wisdom occurs in chapters 44 to 50 of Sirach, extending all to the way to Simon, son of Onias (high priest in the early C3rd BCE).
So Jesus brings to a high point much of what had been hoped for, and spoken about, in the figure of Wisdom. All of this is now seen to reside in him, “the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation … the head of the body, the church … the beginning, the firstborn from the dead …[in whom] all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell” (1:15–20). It’s a remarkable testimony.
Wisdom, by Sara Beth Baca
This year we are to celebrate 1700 years since the Nicene Creed was created. The development in theological understanding of Jesus that is found in these verses in Colossians, drawing from Hebrew scriptures of past centuries, continues apace in the ensuing centuries, as Christian writers draw more and more from neo-platonic philosophy to develop what eventually becomes a full suite of Christian doctrines—including a series of affirmations about Jesus.
It is worth noting that, just as the creative work of Jesus is noted in the Nicene Creed (“through him all things were made”), so his salvific work is also briefly described (“for us [all] and for our salvation he came down from heaven“). These fleeting references draw on the way in which scripture has used the Wisdom literature— although, of course, all four Gospels and many Epistles note the forgiving, saving, delivering work of Jesus. Colossians plays its part in attesting to this. It is, in fact, part of the bedrock of the developing patristic theology which emerged over the centuries between the New Testament and the early Ecumenical Councils.
I’m planning to write some more blogs about credal affirmations found within scripture, and how they inform (or not) the Nicene Creed, in the context of this global celebration of 1700 years since Nicaea. Stay tuned!
An Informed Faith 