Paul – An Informed Faith

Forcing scripture to support doctrine: texts for Trinity Sunday (2 Cor 13, Matt 28; Trinity A)

This coming Sunday is one of those extremely rare moments in the course of the church year. It’s a Sunday that raises some difficulties for me. First, it’s one of the very few times in the Christian calendar that a Sunday is named for a doctrine, rather than for a biblical story (Easter, Pentecost, Christmas, and the like). And second, it is unusual in that it presents problems for the shapers of the lectionary, since (in my view) the Doctrine of the Trinity is not actually proclaimed in the biblical texts.

Indeed, we might well argue that the texts which are selected for this coming Sunday are actually being asked to undertake work that they weren’t intended to do, and that they can’t actually do without significant violence being done to them. I have already explored the two Hebrew Scripture passages (Genesis 1 and Psalm 8); see

Forcing scripture to support doctrine: texts for Trinity Sunday (Gen 1, Psalm 8; Trinity A)

In this post I turn to the two New Testament passages (2 Corinthians 13 and Matthew 28). What then, first, of Paul’s closing words of his second letter to the Corinthians? This provides one of the rare instances in the New Testament where Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit appear in close proximity within the same sentence. Could this be an early statement of a three-in-one deity? Some interpreters would have us think so.

However, the blessing that is offered at the end of this letter is not Paul making a doctrinal declaration about the inner nature of God. It is, rather, a poetically-inspired literary variation and expansion of the typical closing words that we find at the end of his letters.

“The grace of the Lord Jesus be with you” is how he has ended his earlier letter to the Corinthians (1 Cor 16:23), a closure similar to “the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you” (1 Thess 5:28), “the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit” (Phil 4:23 and also Phlmn 25), and “may the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit, brothers and sisters. Amen” (Gal 6:18). Each ending has a very minor stylistic variation.

Writing to the believers in Rome, where dissension had gripped the house gatherings in that city, Paul most likely ended his long letter with a different blessing, “the God of peace be with all of you. Amen” (Rom 15:33). At some point, the extended greetings of Rom 16:1–16 was added, leading to a later word of blessing, “the God of peace will shortly crush Satan under your feet; the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you” (Rom 16:20), after which yet more greetings are offered (Rom 16:21–23) and then a quite uncharacteristically flowery closure is appended–most likely by a later scribe, wanting to give a grand finale to Paul’s longest letter (Rom 16:25–27). In place of that excessive ending, another scribe substituted the more typical Pauline blessing, “the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with all of you. Amen” (marked as Rom 16:24 in our numbering).

All of which indicates that the closing blessing in Paul’s authentic letters was both predictable, in that it offered grace, and also variable, in that it was occasionally nuanced and modified from the basic form. Such is the case in 2 Cor, where the standard blessing is extended.

The first phrase picks up Paul’s concerns in this letter for God’s grace, manifest to the Corinthians (2 Cor 1:12; 4:15; 6:1; 8:1; 9:14; 12:9). The second phrase adds God’s love, evident not only in Paul’s earlier words in 1 Cor 13, but also in this letter (2 Cor 5:14; 13:11). And the third phrase evokes the compassionate outpouring of the opening chapter of this letter, as Paul expresses his fellowship with the Corinthians by offering them consolation in their sufferings (2 Cor 1:3–11) and his fervent desire to visit them (2 Cor 1:15—2:4), culminating in his passionate expression, “I wrote you out of much distress and anguish of heart and with many tears, not to cause you pain, but to let you know the abundant love that I have for you” (2 Cor 2:4).

Indeed, it in in this letter that Paul most clearly articulated his understanding of, and commitment to, “the ministry of reconciliation ” (2 Cor 5:11–21). This understanding has surely come to fullest expression in the context of his relationship with the Corinthians, with whom he has certainly struggled, yet for whom he has a profound depth of compassion and love. He yearns to be held within “the communion of the Holy Spirit” with them.

The closing blessing at 2 Cor 13:13 is thus a personal, compassionate expression of his love and concern for the Corinthians-a fitting ending to a most passionate letter. It is far away from being a statement of the doctrine of God.

Which leaves, last of all, the closing words of Matthew’s Gospel (Matt 28:16–20), in which Jesus is said to have given a final command to his disciples, and assured them of his enduring ongoing presence with them “to the end of the age”? Here, embedded in the primary command to “go to all nations”, there is the subsidiary instruction to “make disciples”, as well as a further subsidiary instruction to “baptise in the name”. It is this last clause, of course, which motivates the offering of this passage for Trinity Sunday.

The focus of the passage which is commonly referred to as “the Great Commission” in Matthew’s Gospel (28:19–20) need to be read carefully. There are four key verbs (doing words) in these two verses: go, teach, baptise, teach. In strict syntactical analysis, the main verb is the one in the imperative (expressing a command): “make disciples”. Subsidiary to that are the other three verbs, each of which is in a participial form (indicating an action that is related to, or consequent from, that main verb). So making disciples is the key factor in this commission.

The act of making disciples is directed towards “the nations”—that is, to anyone with whom the followers of Jesus come into contact. It is to be expressed through two activities: baptising, and teaching. The act of making disciples is also to take place “as you are going”, that is, as followers of Jesus are making their way through the world in the days ahead.

Teaching orients the focus of the disciples back to the time that they spent with Jesus; they are to teach the people of the nations “to obey everything that I have commanded you”. As Matthew has taken great care to compile and collate the teachings of Jesus into five clear sections of his Gospel (chs. 5–7, 10, 13, 18, 23–25), the guidelines provided by Jesus are evident. What he has taught in his time with the disciples is to be passed on (in good rabbinic style) to those whom they then instruct. Teaching is an activity for life in this world, very clearly.

Baptising orients the focus of the disciples to the life of the church in the future. Belonging to Jesus involves submitting to the ritual of immersion into water, signalling the new life that is taken on through faith. So, when we look at each of these factors—the syntax, the content, the focus of the passage, we must conclude that thispassage is clearly directed towards the activity that the disciples of Jesus are to undertake from this time onwards. It is not offering a doctrinal definition.

The formula used in Matt 28:19 is, in fact, something that emerges only later in the life of the church (probably not until the time of Constantine, as far as we can tell from other Christian literature). Once again, life in community on this earth is the focus. There is no sense of being baptised (“christened” in the old language) into a mysteriously complex entity of a triune being in order to “get into heaven” in accordance with institutional theological dogma. The emphasis is on community building and discipleship development within the evolving faith communities of the Jesus movement.

The focus here is on what the disciples need to do in the earthly life that stretches ahead of them: bear witness, make disciples, teach and baptise, continue out amongst “the nations” the mission that the earthly Jesus has been undertaking amongst “the lost sheep of the house of Israel”. That is far removed from any abstract speculative hypothesising about the nature of a transcendent divine being.

Paul, Demetrius and Damaris: an encounter in Athens (Acts 17:16-17,22–34)

The following dialogue was written by Elizabeth Raine and John Squires,and delivers as the sermon for the Tuggeranong Uniting Church on Sunday 14 May 2023.

*****

While Paul was waiting in Athens for Silas and Timothy, he was greatly upset when he noticed how full of idols the city was. So he argued in the synagogue with the Jews and the gentiles who worshipped God, and in the public square every day with the people who happened to come by.

Then Paul was brought before the city council, which met at the Areopagus in Athens. Today, as we listen to what Paul said to the council, we are also going to listen in to what might have been going through the minds of two people in his audience: a learned Greek man called Demetrius, and a woman of deep faith, known as Damaris.

Paul stood up in front of the meeting of the Areopagus and said, “People of Athens, I see that in every way you are very religious.”

Demetrius: Yes, this is correct. We are very proud of our religions here in Athens. As religious people, we worship lots of gods. Just look around you, and you will see altars and temples of every size, shape, and description. Over there, is the fine temple to Zeus. And beside it, the shrine to Apollo; it, too, is a remarkable holy building. It is not for nothing that we in Athens have the reputation of great piety.

And, of course, when you turn your eyes to the top of the hill, you will see the pride and joy of our city: the magnificent temple of Artemis, where our ancestors have long worshipped the greatest of all goddesses. This temple is world famous. It is respected — even envied, dare I say — by peoples of all other nations.

And Athens has also been blessed by many famous teachers of philosophy. Plato and Socrates, Aristotle and Pythagoras, Epicurus and many more. Why, even today, I believe that you could find no better array of teachers in any other city!

Yes, all of this shows you just how religious we are. This Paul is so right when he describes us in such generous terms.

Damaris: Indeed, it is true that we do have a lot of temples in our city. And we certainly have many fine teachers, as you say. Lots of people say that we are the most religious city in the world.

But something is missing, I think. There is so much ritual and pomp and ceremony that goes on; sometimes, I think that this can get in the way of worshipping the gods, rather than helping us to worship them.

And there are so many teachers who speak truths that are complex; sometimes it hurts my head just to listen to them all! And all those poor animals that are sacrificed to all of these gods and goddesses. I wonder whether this really is such a good idea.

I have heard it said that Paul believes in a god that cannot be depicted on stone. It’s a curious idea to us Athenians; but some of my friends have told me about the group that believes this idea. A god that exists, but that we can’t see, or know much about at all is an odd idea.

23Paul continued, “For as I walked through your city and looked at the places where you worship, I found also an altar on which is written, ‘To an Unknown God.’ That which you worship, then, even though you do not know it, is what I now proclaim to you. God, who made the world and everything in it, is Lord of heaven and earth, and does not live in temples made by humans. Nor does God need anything that people can supply by working for him, since it is God himself who gives life and breath and everything else to all people. From the one person God created all human beings, and he made them live over the whole earth. God himself fixed beforehand the exact times and the limits of the places where they would live.”

Demetrius: Mmm, yes. Good point. I agree. Paul has said some important things about this God. When you boil it all down, there is a force in human history that looks over all things. Providence, or Fate, we call it.

And despite all of these shrines and images of the gods, there is a quality about the divine that is rather unknown to us. In the end, we would have to say that the gods are beyond our understanding. This is what our revered teacher, Plato, said about them. The gods transcend this earthly life and really have no need of our human worship.

Many of the priests in our city would be horrified by this, as they insist that we get access to the gods by offering sacrifices. But this kind of other-worldly god is very attractive. I like what Paul has to say.

Damaris: Yes, I too find Paul’s words attractive, Demetrius. And it is reassuring to know that all the things that happen in life are ultimately under the control of Divine Providence. But I am a little bit worried about what Paul seems to be saying. The god he is talking about seems to be rather removed from us all. I wonder how Paul thinks this god of his could be accessible to us? How could we relate to this god, if we can’t see his image?

Paul went on to say, “God did this so that they would look for him, and perhaps find him as they felt around for him. Yet God is actually not far from any one of us; as someone has said, ‘In him we live and move and exist.’ It is as some of your poets have said, ‘We too are his children.’”

Demetrius: Well, this is a surprising turn. From a god who is so far away from us, to a god who is near to us. Come to think of it, Paul is on to something here. In fact, he is quoting from our own Greek traditions here. I recognise those words he said — Aratus, I think it was, the poet, who said of god “in him we live and move and exist”. And “we are god’s children” — I know that, too. Well, that is very good, a Jew like Paul, showing that he knows our poetry and philosophical writings.

Damaris: I quite like the idea of a god who is with me all the time. All of these holy places and holy rituals can get too much, and tend to place too many things in between the gods and ourselves. Sometimes I’d just like to be able to relate to a god in an intimate, and personal way. So a god who is with me all the time — not just when I visit his shrine or place a sacrifice on his altar — is an appealing concept. “We are God’s children” — God as the one who gives birth to us, who nurtures us, who disciplines us, and who loves us. This sounds really good.

Demetrius: Yes, this is great. A god who is always with us. Why don’t we build an altar to him! I’ll get in touch with my friend Stephanas, he has a very good stone mason as one of his slaves, and we’ll see what we can come up with. I can just see it now; “To the god in whom we live and move and exist: this statue was erected by Demetrius and Stephanas” — no, “this statue was erected by Demetrius, with help from Stephanas”. Oh, why not just, “erected by Demetrius, a leading citizen of the city”. In large letters. Yes, that will look fine. And we’ll use the best stone; and have it trimmed in gold, with bright colours, so that it stands out, and….

“No!”, said Paul. “Since we are God’s children, we should not suppose that his nature is anything like an image of gold or silver or stone, shaped by the art and skill of a human being.”

Demetrius: No?

Damaris: I think I see the point. If this god is always near to us, then it would be silly to build an altar or erect a temple for him. After all, the temple is where the god or goddess lives, so that we know where to go to visit them. But if the god is always with us, then we don’t need to build him or her a home. So, if we aren’t going to build an altar or put up a statue, how are we going to worship this god?

Then Paul explained, “God has overlooked the times when people did not know, but now he commands all people everywhere to turn away from their evil ways. For God has fixed a day in which he will judge the whole world with justice, by means of a man he has chosen. He has given proof of this to everyone by raising that man from death!”

Demetrius: Oh, now he has spoilt it. What! How can a person be raised from the dead? Everyone knows that once we die, we go down into the underworld and live as shadows. Once you cross the river Styx, your previous life is left far behind. Who would want to go back into the earthly body once again?

No, this claim by Paul raises too many questions that are just not able to be answered satisfactorily. Any talk about raising the dead and bringing back their bodies is stupid.

Damaris: Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve always been worried by this idea. The thought of being a shadow after I die doesn’t really hold any attraction for me. I am much more interested in the story of a god who is able to transform death. What a powerful and caring god this must be! After all, death is what we all must face, and what we all fear so much.

And further, I am starting to see something quite special in what Paul is talking about. He has mentioned a special man, a chosen human being, who will be the one to carry out God’s justice in all the world. This idea is what really grabs me. To think that a god can not only be with us, but that this god can be a human being, just one of us, is really very special.

Now that I think about, this message reminds me of a letter that I received from my sister in Corinth just recently. As I recall now, she spoke about this man named Paul, who had visited the city, and had preached about a man from Nazareth, in the province of Galilee. Paul said that this man, Jesus, was not only a great prophet, but that he had been raised from the dead, and that he is the one who will bring God’s justice into the world. Perhaps this Paul that we are listening to today is the same person that she was talking about?

As Paul puts it, this God has a presence and a power that touches human life in profound and moving ways. This kind of power is lacking in the stone images that I see around me. Paul is leading me right into the heart of this God. So I think I will take his advice, and turn away from the gods I used to worship, and wait for the coming of divine justice through this man who is raised from the dead.

When the people heard Paul speak about a raising from death, some of them made fun of him, but others said, “We want to hear you speak about this again.”

Demetrius: Well, I have to say that this Paul is a bit of a surprise. I admit that he has said one or two foolish things — but not quite as many as I thought he would when he started. But this business of being raised from death is just not on. Yet some of the things that he has said are worth pondering. He is quite a philosopher, isn’t he? I can’t make up my mind about him, and about the god that he has proclaimed to us, and the religion that he has told us about. I’ll need some time to reflect on what he has said.

Perhaps he will be back in the public square tomorrow; I hope so. Maybe I will go there with my kitchen slaves in the morning, when they go to buy our household food for the midday dinner.

Then Paul left their meeting. Some men joined him and believed; among them was Dionysius, a member of the Areopagus, a woman named Damaris, and some others.

*****

As we return to the 21st century, it is worthwhile pondering Paul’s words and actions, and the response that both Damaris and Demetrius had to these words.

The words of Luke suggests that perhaps Paul was “off duty”, as his prime reason for being in Athens was to wait for Silas and Timothy to rejoin him there. Unable to do nothing or ignore the temples of idols around him, Paul’s idea of “off duty” appears to be to argue with everyone he meets in the town square. However this may have been perceived, Paul’s message of “the God you are looking for, the God you don’t even have a name for, the God who is in danger of getting lost in the plethora of all the other idols you are worshipping – let me tell you about that God…” is the God that we surely could take with us into our own town squares – maybe represented today by our cathedrals of consumerism in the large shopping malls, clubs and coffee shops we frequent today.

Paul presents his “new teaching” and “strange ideas” by meeting the Athenians on their own ground, by quoting two of the Greek poets: the Cretan Epimenides (600 BCE), that “in him we live and move and have our being,” and then the opening lines of the Phaenomena by Aratus (315-240 BCE), a Greek poet and Stoic of Cilicia, that “we are his children.”

It is also worth noting that Paul does not condemn them as unredeemed pagans on a one-way trip to hell, he tells them that both he and they worship the same God. Paul plainly saw God at work in the world through all people, and we would do well to remember this as well. Paul viewed the venerable Areopagus as just another place where the Lord of all creation had gone before him and was already present; indeed, as Paul said to the Athenians, “He is not far from each one of us.”

We Christians need to be aware of isolating and insulating ourselves from our culture’s mainstream. We must avoid being inward-looking, self-absorbed, and judgmental, instead of engaging people in our contemporary Areopagus. Instead, we need to follow Paul’s example of living, learning and sharing the gospel in the marketplace of ideas, engaging real people where they live, work, and think, in order to gain a hearing for our “strange ideas” about God, grace, and the resurrection.

*****

Flesh and bones, spirit and life (Ezek 37, Psalm 130, Rom 8, John 11, Lent 5A)

On the Fifth Sunday in Lent, the scripture passages offered by the lectionary revolve around a central theme: life in contrast to death. It’s not every Sunday that all four passages line up to provide a clear and obvious focus on a single theme. For more than half of the Sundays in the year, the Hebrew Scripture, Epistle, and Gospel each follow their own course, and any overlap of theme is accidental, not planned. For Sundays in Advent, Christmas, and Lent, as well as key days like Pentecost, Trinity, and the Reign of Christ, the thematic overlap is intentional. This week we have just such a Sunday!

Death is at the heart of the story of Lazarus that forms the Gospel passage for Sunday (John 11:1–45). Initially, Jesus is told “he whom you love is ill” (John 11:3), but when he arrives in Bethany, Martha accosts him with “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died” (11:21)—an accusation repeated by her sister Mary (11:31); and then comes a graphic description provided by Martha as they draw near to the tomb: “already there is a stench because he has been dead four days” (11:39).

The emergence of Lazarus from the tomb marks a climactic moment, for the family in Bethany and many of their neighbours (11:44–45), but also for the chief priests and Pharisees, who together determine to put Jesus to death (11:53). The seventh sign recounted in this Gospel is the most significant miracle of Jesus, but also the deed that determines the fate of Jesus. Soon after this event in Bethany, he says, “I have come to this hour” (12:27), the hour when “I am lifted up from the earth, [when I] will draw all people to myself” (12:32), the hour when the Father will “glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you” (17:1). The death of Jesus is to be, paradoxically, the complete fulfilment of his mission (19:30)—the pathway into life eternal (3:16; 10:28; 17:3).

This climactic movement, of death moving to life in Bethany, resonates with the words of the prophet Ezekiel and also the writings of the apostle Paul that are offered for this coming Sunday. Ezekiel confronts the signs of death: “The Lord set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were very many lying in the valley, and they were very dry” (Ezek 37:1–2). Paul considers the state of humanity: “to set the mind on the flesh is death … the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law—indeed it cannot, and those who are in the flesh cannot please God” (Rom 8:6–8).

So, death is in view in these three readings. It is no wonder that the psalm we are offered alongside them speaks a cry of deep despair: “out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord” (Ps 130:1). The depths of the earth were the place where sinful people went (Ps 63:9; Isa 14:15), following the lead of the Egyptians who pursued the Israelites and “went down into the depths like a stone” (Exod 5:4–5; Neh 9:11; Isa 63:11–13). There, in the depths, God’s anger burned (Deut 32:22).

However, those banished to the depths were able to be brought back from the depths by God’s decree (Ps 68:22; 71:20; 86:13), so the cry of the psalmist from the depths is followed by the plea, “Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!” (Ps 103:2). As the prophet Micah affirms, God’s steadfast love will rescue those who “lick dust like a snake,

like the crawling things of the earth”, and will indeed “cast all our sins into the depths of the sea” (Mic 7:17, 19). So the psalmist affirms, “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope” (Ps 103:5).

Just as Lazarus emerges from the tomb where his dead body was laid, so Ezekiel foresees a wondrous revival amongst the dead bones of the people of Israel: “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act,” says the Lord” (Ezek 37:11). The vision he sees emac s that dramatically. Likewise, Paul glimpses that same hope: “if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also through his Spirit that dwells in you” (Rom 8:11).

Both prophet and apostle hold to the hope enacted in the Gospel and articulated by the psalmist: “Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem. It is he who will redeem Israel from all its iniquities” (Ps 103:7–8).

*****

Ezekiel was both a prophet and a priest (Ezek 1:3). He had been exiled to Babylon during the siege of Jerusalem by King Nebuchadnezzar II of Babylon (599 BCE; see 2 Kings 24:10–17). His prophetic activity was thus undertaken entirely in exile. He addresses both those in exile with him in Babylon, and also those left behind in Judah. His prophecies continue through the period when the people in Judah were conquered and taken to join Ezekiel in exile (587 BCE; see 2 Ki 25:1–21), and then for some time after that.

A dramatic vision opens the book, in which “the glory of God” appears in the form of a fiery, flaming chariot (1:4–28). Priestly attention to detail marks the account of this vision, whilst contains multiple allusions to other scriptural stories. The bright cloud and flashing fire evokes the scene on Mount Sinai, when God gave Moses the Law (Exod 19:16–19); the “burning coals of fire” (1:13) remind us of the burning coals in the scene of the call of Isaiah (Isa 6:6); and “the bow in the cloud on a rainy day” evokes the sign of the covenant made with Noah (Gen 9:12–17). In seeing this vision, Ezekiel has had a life-transforming experience!

Ezekiel is impelled to play his role as a prophet by “the hand of the Lord” (1:3; 3:22; 8:1; etc); indeed, he says, “the spirit lifted me up” (3:12). That same spirit continues to lift him up with regularity (8:3; 11:1, 24; 37:1; 43:5) to show him vision after vision. More than this, Ezekiel declares that “the spirit entered me” (3:24), a process which he promises will be experienced by Israel as a whole (36:26–28)—for the Lord says he will “pour out my spirit upon the house of Israel” (39:29).

This emphasis on the renewing spirit of God is seen, most dramatically, by Ezekiel when he is taken by the spirit into “the middle of a valley … full of bones” (37:1) and sees a vision that he conveys in what must be his most famous oracle. What Ezekiel sees in this valley of dry bones is the work of God, as God puts sinews and flesh and skin on the bones, and breathes into the bodies so created, so that they live (37:5–6, 8, 10).

The vision indicates what God will do: “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil” (37:14). The end of the exile, it seems, is in sight. This passage is often interpreted in a Christian context as a pointer both to the resurrection of Jesus, and also to the general resurrection; indeed, its appearance on the Fifth Sunday in Lent means that it complements, and indeed illuminates, the dramatic story of Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life, as he approaches the tomb, and cries in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” (John 11:38–44).

For Ezekiel, however, this vision is not a far-into-the-future prediction (foretelling), but a word of hope to the people in their immediate situation (forthtelling). Indeed, the very next section of this chapter reports a proclamation of Ezekiel which is quite directly forthtelling. The two sticks that he takes (37:16) stand for Judah and Israel; as he joins the sticks, so he points to the return of these peoples from their exile, their return “to their own land”, and a cleansing which will mean “they shall be my people, and I will be their God” (37:21–23, 27).

That final phrase is a common covenantal affirmation made by God (Lev 26:12; Ruth 1:16; Jer 7:23; 11:4; 24:7; 30:22; 31:1, 33; 32:38; Ezek 11:20; 14:11; 36:28; Zech 2:11; and Hos 1:10–11, overturning Hos 1:9). The reunited people shall have one king (37:24) and they will observe “an everlasting covenant” (37:26).

So the dramatic story that the prophet Ezekiel reports from his vision set in the middle of a valley full of dry bones is intended to speak directly into the life of the covenant people of God, the people of Israel, offering them hope despite their current circumstances.

*****

Paul also was commissioned for his task through a vision—reported in graphic terms by Luke, who makes the moment into a grand call-and-commissioning scene (Acts 9:3–8; 22:6–11; 26:12–18), but mentioned only briefly, in general terms, in passing by Paul himself (1 Cor 9:1; and perhaps Gal 1:1, 12). Of course, Luke was not present for this event, so he shaped in along the lines of classic call-and-commissioning narratives that existed in earlier Jewish writings. (I have explored this in detail in my commentary on Acts in the Eerdman’s Commentary on the Bible, 2003).

That vision turned Paul from persecutor of the followers of Jesus to an apostle fervently declaring “the good news of Jesus Christ” as far as possible, “from Jerusalem and as far around as Illyricum” (Rom 15:19). (Illyricum was a Roman province that covered the coastal area of the Balkans, northwest of Macedonia stretching towards Italy.) Paul delivers this good news in person to many communities, but he sets it out at length in his letter to believers in Rome, which he had not yet visited.

Paul is embued with the same hope that the psalmist and the prophet demonstrate. He rejoices with the Thessalonians that they share with him in “hope in our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Thess 1:3), tells the Galatians that “through the Spirit, by faith, we eagerly waits for the hope of righteousness” (Gal 5:5), and reminds the Corinthians that “faith, hope and love abide” (1 Cor 13:13). In a subsequent letter to believers in Corinth, he asserts that “he who rescued us from so deadly a peril will continue to secure us; on him we have set our hope that he will rescue us again” (2 Cor 1:10)

Paul reports to the Romans that “we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God” (Rom 4:2) and that it is “in hope that we were saved” (Rom 8:24). He affirms that it is “by steadfastness and the encouragement of the scriptures, we might have hope” (Rom 15:4), notes that scripture promises that “the root of Jesses shall come … in him the Gentiles shall hope” (Rom 15:12), and so characterises God as “the God of hope” (Rom 15:13). He shares in that strong hope which is sung by the psalmist and spoken by the prophet, and which is acted out in the Gospel reading for this Sunday.

Righteous by faith and at peace with God (Rom 5; Lent 3A)

We are being offered a veritable feast by the lectionary during the season of Lent, through Hebrew Scripture passages which recall key moments in the story of Israel (Abraham, Moses, David, return after exile) as well as in Gospel narratives telling of the transformative encounters which Jesus had with a range of people (a Pharisee and a Samaritan woman, a man born blind and two sisters of a dead man).

Alongside this, the lectionary offers us a set of readings from Paul’s longest and most richly-developed theological letter, that which he wrote to “all God’s beloved in Rome, who are called to be saints” (Rom 1:7). After exploring the rationale for human sinfulness (Rom 5:12–19, Lent 1A), we have read of Paul’s use of Abraham as a model to explain how God “reckons us to be righteous” (Rom 4:1–5, 13–17, Lent 2A).

Today we are offered another passage replete with fundamental theological affirmations (Rom 5:1–11, Lent 3A) and in two more weeks we will hear yet another “purple passage” from Romans (Rom 8:6–11, Lent 5A). In the intervening week we are diverted in Ephesians, most likely because the passage illuminates the Gospel story of Jesus enabling the man born blind to see (John 9).

Whilst Romans 4 exhibits many signs of the diatribe style, as we have noted, Paul seems to set this to one side for a time. He will pick up the pattern of apostrophe (posing questions to a hypothetical listener) and speech-in-character (providing answers to those questions from an imaginary person) in the next chapter: “What then are we to say? Should we continue in sin in order that grace may abound? By no means! How can we who died to sin go on living in it?” (Rom 6:1–3).

He will extend that through the agonising of the following chapter: “What then should we say? That the law is sin? By no means! Yet, if it had not been for the law, I would not have known sin.” (Rom 7:7). He will pick this up again at the end of his lengthy argument begun in 5:1 when he exclaims: “What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies.” (Rom 8:31–34).

Paul uses these techniques because he is, in the depths of his being, what we would call a “pastoral practitioner”. He is a good theological thinker, but he is oriented at every point to the pastoral engagement that he has with people in the churches which (mostly) he has founded—the church in Rome being a key exception to this, since he writes to a community that he has not yet visited.

Paul tells the Thessalonians that he seeks to operate “like a father with his children” (1 Thess 2:11), “like a nurse tenderly caring for her own children” (1 Thess 2:7). He tells the Philippians “how I long for all of you with the compassion of Christ Jesus” (Phil 1:8), and the Corinthians that “I wrote you out of much distress and anguish of heart and with many tears, not to cause you pain, but to let you know the abundant love that I have for you” (2 Cor 2:4). And he assures the Romans that he prays that “by God’s will I may come to you with joy and be refreshed in your company” (Rom 15:32).

Amidst all the harsh rhetoric, direct intervention, and controlling instructions that pepper all the letters of Paul, this kind, compassionate, caring heart can be glimpsed. Paul does what he does for the sake of the people whom he serves. Rabbinic midrash and rhetorical diatribe a pre pressed into the service of compassionate care for his people.

The opening of Paul’s letter to the Romans,
from an early fourth century papyrus (p10)

*****

But for the passage from Romans which we are offered this coming Sunday (Rom 5:1–11), the style changes. Rather than the diatribe style of question—response, shaped by the Pharisaic midrashic pattern of exploring key scripture passages, Paul seems to switch, to become a doctrinal pedagogue much as we find in later patriotic, medieval, and reformed writers.

In just eleven verses, Paul identifies and names a sequence of ten key theological claims—perhaps the closest he ever gets to becoming what we know as a “systematic theologian”. Paul mentions, in turn, justification by faith, peace with God, access to God’s grace, the glory of God, the place of sufferings, endurance, and hope, the gift of the Holy Spirit, the function of the death of Christ and the process of being justified by his blood, salvation from God’s wrath, and finally, reconciliation with God. They are each worth pondering.

Being justified by faith—or, in another English translation, being made righteous by faith—is the first concept which has pride of place in this passage—and, indeed, forms the basis for the theological argument that is developed throughout this Gospel. Paul’s opening statement is that, in the Gospel, “the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith”, quoting a scripture passage to provide the basis for his assertion (Rom 1:17); that righteousness is explained at length through the ensuing chapters, canvassing a range of matters in the process.

Righteousness, of course, has its origins deep in the Hebrew Scriptures. Abram had been given promises by God but he expresses doubt that these promises would come to pass (15:2-3). God provides further reassurance; the multitude of stars in the sky is testimony to that (15:5). Abraham’s resulting affirmation of faith leads to the famous phrase, so central to Paul’s later argument about righteousness: “he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness” (15:6; see Rom 4:3,9,22).

The psalmists regularly thank God for God’s righteousness (Ps 5:8; 7:17; 9:8; 33:5; 35:24, 28; 36:6; 50:6; etc) and note the importance of humans living in that way for righteousness (Ps 18:20, 24; 85:10–13; 106:3, 31; 112:1–3, 9), whilst the book of Proverbs advises that the wisdom it offers is “for gaining instruction in wise dealing, righteousness, justice, and equity” (Prov 1:3) and the prophets consistently advocated for Israel to live in accordance with righteousness (Hos 10:12; Amos 5:24; Isa 1:22; 5:7; 28:17; 32:16–17; 54:14; Jer 22:3; Ezek 18:19–29; Dan 9:24; 12:3; Zeph 2:3; Mal 4:1–3; Hab 2:1–4).

So “being made righteous with God” (Rom 5:1) is both a central element of Paul’s theology, and a strong thread running from Hebrew scriptural texts into the life of the early church.

Peace with God is the second element in this section. Paul regularly commences his letters with the formulaic “grace and peace to you” (Rom 1:7; 1 Cor 1:3; 2 Cor 1:2; Gal 1:3; Phil 1:2; 1 Thess 1:1; Phlm 3), but the peace spoken of at 5:1 goes deeper than this formula. God is “the God of peace” (1 Thess 5:23) who offers peace “which surpasses all understanding” (Phil 4:7). “God is a God not of disorder but of peace” (1 Cor 14:33) so believers are urged to live in peace (2 Cor 13:11). The Galatians are told that of the fruits of the Spirit is peace (Gal 5:22); the Philippians are informed that “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Phil 4:7).

Such peace is grounded in the understanding of God expressed in Hebrew Scriptures. The Psalmist prays, “may the Lord bless his people with peace” (Ps 29:11), celebrates that God “will speak peace to his people, to his faithful, to those who turn to him in their hearts”, such that “steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other” (Ps 84:8, 10), and gives thanks that God “grants peace within [Jerusalem’s] borders” (Ps 147:4).

The vision of peaceful co-existence amongst all creatures is declared. by various prophets (Isa 2:2–5; Mic 4:1–5; Isa 52:7; 57:19; 60:17; 65:25) and amongst the names of the one whom Isaiah foresees as the hope for Israel’s future is “Prince of Peace” (Isa 9:2). Both Ezekiel (Ezek 13:8–16) and Jeremiah (Jer 14:13–22) decry those who cry out “peace when there is no peace”. Ezekiel states that God promises, “I will make a covenant of peace with them; it shall be an everlasting covenant with them” (Ezek 37:26; also 34:25, and Zech 8:12).

*****

This being-made-righteous and the consequent gift of peace comes, according to Paul’s comments later in this passage, through the death of Jesus on the cross. He uses a number of phrases to describe this death, and its “benefits” for believers. In verse 6, he notes that “Christ died for the ungodly”, and in verse 8, “while we still were sinners, Christ died for us”.

“Christ died for us” is a common phrase in Paul’s letters—so much so that it is regarded as a formulaic statement (an early credal affirmation?) which appears in various forms (Rom 6:10; 8:34; 14:9; 1 Cor 8:11; 2 Cor 5:14–15; 1 Thess 5:9–10; see also Gal 1:4; 2:20; Rom 7:4; 1 Thess 4:14; and the later formula of 1 Tim 2:5–6). Specifically relating the death of Christ to dealing with sin is also addressed by Paul in some detail earlier in this letter (Rom 3:9–26; 5:15–21; 6:5–14) as well more briefly as in other letters (1 Cor 15:56–57; 2 Cor 5:21; Gal 3:22).

To explain how this death deals with our sins, Paul here specifies that “we have been made righteous by his blood” (Rom 5:9). This clearly relates to the practice of faithful Jews, who for centuries brought their sacrifice to the Temple, so that the priests could kill the animals brought as offerings to God. Shedding blood was integral to this process.

The Torah specifies that the priests should receive “a bull of the herd” as a sin offering, and “the bull shall be slaughtered before the Lord; the anointed priest shall take some of the blood of the bull and bring it into the tent of the meeting … and dip his finger in the blood and sprinkle some of the blood seven times before the Lord” (Lev 4:3–6). Some of the blood is also placed on the horns of the altar and the rest “he shall pour out at the base of the altar of burnt offering” (Lev 4:7).

Likewise, the priest was to “slaughter the guilt offering, and its blood shall be dashed against all sides of the altar” (Lev 7:2); to purify a leper, two lambs are offered, and the priest “shall slaughter the lamb … and take some of the blood of the guilt offering and put it on the lobe of the right ear of the one to be cleansed [the leper] and on the thumb of the right hand and on the big toe of the right foot” (Lev 14:13–14; so also 14:25).

So likewise for the bull on the Day of Atonement: “Aaron … shall slaughter bull as a sin offering for himself … and sprinkle the blood with his finger on the front of the mercy seat … seven times” (Lev 16:11, 14), and then do the same with “the goat of the sin offering” (Lev 16:15–19), before then releasing a live goat (the “scapegoat”) or “bear all their iniquities to a barren region, and the goat shall be set free in the wilderness” (Lev 16:22).

The significance of the shedding of blood is clearly and strikingly articulated in the Torah: “the life of the flesh is in the blood; and I have given it to you for making atonement for your lives on the altar; for, as life, it is the blood that makes atonement” (Lev 7:11). When the blood of the animal is shed, that life is given as an offering to effect atonement. So, too, when the blood of Jesus was shed, his life functioned as an atoning offering for human beings.

The slaughter of animals and the sprinkling of blood thus signifies the sacrificial offering of a gift to God, seeking cleansing or forgiveness. Applying this common practice to Jesus makes sense in the context of the time—but it is an image which is far more difficult for us to accept and appreciate in the modern world, where we might feel that we have moved beyond such “primitive practices”, as some callously call those ancient practices.

What we can take from this language, perhaps, is the observation that sacrifice for sin, seeking to remove the tarnish of that sinfulness and find restoration and wholeness, was a dynamic signalled elsewhere in Hebrew Scripture—most clearly in that famous fourth Servant Song in Second Isaiah, which refers to the servant as the one who “has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases … wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed” (Isa 53:4–5). As “the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all”, so “it was the will of the Lord to crush him with pain [to] make his life an offering for sin” (Isa 53:6, 10).

That same dynamic is at work every year in Australia, as those military people who have died in battle over the past century are remembered each ANZAC Day for their sacrifice and thanked for what they have bequeathed to our society. It is the same dynamic of sacrifices offered by some to ensure the safety of the many.

So, Paul is able to affirm that when Jesus died, it was to assure us of forgiveness, to deal with our sinfulness, and to restore us to the original state of goodness (Gen 1:26–31) that was God’s gift and intention for humankind.

See more on this at

https://johntsquires.com/2023/02/24/original-sin-or-innate-goodness-genesis-2-romans-5-lent-1a/

*****

This passage is so beloved within the church, and was so highly regarded by the creators of the lectionary, that it appears again, slightly reduced in length, in the readings for the Third Sunday after Pentecost, later in this year (5:1–8), as well as in an even shorter form in the readings for Trinity Sunday in Year C (5:1–5). So I am going to reserve my comments on the remainder of the elements I have identified in this passage until it returns, later this year, in the readings for the Third Sunday after Pentecost! I will leave you, simply, with Paul’s clear affirmation that, “since we are made righteous through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (5:1).

Reckoning what is right (Romans 4; Lent 2A) part two

In a previous post, I explored the first half of Romans 4, sections of which are offered by the lectionary as the Epistle reading for this coming Sunday, the Second Sunday in Lent (Rom 4:1–5, 13–17). See

https://johntsquires.com/2023/03/01/reckoning-what-is-right-romans-4-lent-2a-part-one/

There we noted that Paul quotes scripture texts, poses questions, and provides immediate answers to those questions, as he develops his argument. In this post, I will explore the origins of this style of developing an argument and continue on with an analysis of Paul’s argument in Romans 4.

What we see at work in the rhetorical style that Paul utilises in this letter is that he is not only functioning as a Pharisee, schooled in the methods of midrashic treatment of scriptural texts; but that, as a hellenised Jew (educated in Jerusalem, yes, but living in Tarsus in the diaspora, according to Acts 22:3), he utilises the rhetorical techniques of the diatribe. This was a way of speaking in public that had been created by Bion of Borysthenes in the 4th century BCE, and then developed and refined amongst Greek rhetoricians and utilised particularly by Cynic philosophers in the ensuing centuries.

We know that diatribes were well-known in Ancient Greece; the 4th century playwright Euripides commented that “the peculiarity of the diatribe as distinct from other forms of popular moralizing lies in the assumed presence of an opponent. He is not permitted to reply, but his position is indicated by statements or rhetorical questions put into his mouth by the speaker, and thus the introduction of an objection in the form of a question becomes one of the characteristic features of the diatribe.” It is clear that this is a development of the dialogue form, so its origin is usually traced to the dialogues of Plato.

The popularity of the long-used form of diatribe is well attested into the Common Era in the work entitled Diatribes (more commonly translated as Discourses), published in the early 2nd century CE by Arrian, reporting the diatribes of Epictetus, a first century slave who studied Stoic philosophy and, after he gained his freedom, taught in Rome until Domitian banished all philosophers from Rome in 93CE. (Epictetus moved to Nicopolis and established a school there where he continued to teach Stoic philosophy.)

This demonstrates the enduring character and the widespread know,edge of this particular form of rhetorical argumentation. That Paul was using it quite extensively and to good effect in his letter to Rome (and also at places in other letters he wrote, it must be said) cannot be gainsaid.

Biblical scholars have explored how Paul adapts and utilises the diatribe method. Stanley Stowers pioneered this analysis in his book A Rereading Romans: Justice, Jews, and Gentiles (Yale, 1997), and Douglas Campbell has developed this approach most extensively in The Deliverance of God: an Apocalyptic Rereading of Justification in Paul (Eerdmans, 2009).

Campbell offers a clear explanation of the style: “Ancient diatribe is essentially a distinctive mode of discourse built largely with apostrophe [addressing a fictitious person as if they were present] and speech-in-character (a figure of speech in which an absent or imaginary person is represented as speaking; the technical name for this is prosopopoeia].”

Campbell explains that “A constructed character is generally addressed by the discourse’s central protagonist—who is a broadly Socratic figure—by means of the literary technique of apostrophe, so much of the discourse unfolds through the use of second person singular grammar. And that interlocutor then responds, whether in brief or at length, through the literary technique of speech-in-character, so here the author puts words in this character’s mouth.”

Campbell concludes, “The result is a dramatic discourse mimicking the to and fro of debate and conversation, although slipping were necessary into more extended speeches by one or the other party.” (Campbell, The Deliverance of God, p.535)

We can see the resemblance of Paul’s style of argumentation in Romans, to this rhetorical strategy.

*****

In the second section of Romans 4, then, after having established the universal scope of God’s providential grace—for this is how God meets the universal spread of sinfulness amongst human beings—Paul focusses on the faith that Abraham showed, and it’s importance for believers in Rome( and elsewhere). The thesis for this part of the argument is immediately posed: the promise to Abraham (which he was given in Gen 12:1–3) was “not through the law but through the righteousness of faith” (4:13).

First, Paul indicates that the promise cannot be fulfilled only through “the adherents of the law”, for “the law brings wrath” (4:14–15; he expands on this in chapter 7). Then, he asserts that the promise must rest on faith, both to those who adhere to the law but also “to those who share the faith of Abraham” (4:16). Abraham is here described as “the father of all of us”, drawing on yet another scripture citation (Gen 17:5; Paul uses the same argument at Gal 3:15–18, and the phrase is also at play in the debate reported in John 8:41–59).

Then follows further explication of this scripture (Gen 17:5), particularly explaining how Abraham, “hoping against hope”, became “the father of many nations” (4:17b—21). Despite the barrenness of Sarah’s womb (4:19), Abraham “was fully convinced that God was able to do what he had promised” (4:21). To conclude this exegetical foray, Paul quotes, for the third time, the foundational text: “his faith ‘was reckoned to him as righteousness’” (4:22, quoting Gen 15:6).

Paul then explains that these words describe not only the situation of Abraham, long in the last, but also the situation of those to whom he writes (4:23–24). This is a foundational aspect of Paul’s hermeneutic; he restates it at Rom 15:4, declaring that the scripture “written in former days was written for our instruction”. See

https://johntsquires.com/2019/12/04/for-our-instruction-that-we-might-have-hope-rom-15-isa-11-matt-3/

And so the argument draws to a close, moving back into the heart of Paul’s concern, to expound the Gospel concerning God “who raised Jesus Christ from the dead” (4:24–25). The final verse is most likely a traditional formulaic expression; we find a similar pattern at 1 Cor 15:3–4, a midrashic-style reflection on this pattern at 1 Cor 15:42–44, a variant form at 2 Cor 5:14–15, and extended discussion using the pattern of Christ, dead and raised, as the model for believers, “buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life” (Rom 6:4). Paul provides a fuller discussion of this paradigm at 6:3–11, and there is a similar discussion, albeit varied for the different context, at Col 3:11–15.

The extended argument of this chapter (represented, unfortunately, by truncated excerpts in the lectionary offering) takes us from an initial question about Abraham, through an exploration of the story of Abraham, and Sarah, to a conclusion about the life of those who place their trust in what God has done through Jesus Christ; namely, that God “will justify [or, reckon as righteous] the circumcised on the ground of faith and the uncircumcised through that same faith” (3:30), and so, in like manner, “it will be reckoned to us who believe in him who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead” (4:24). It is all about being reckoned as righteous on the basis of faith.

As Paul would say: Thanks be to God!

Reckoning what is right (Romans 4; Lent 2A) part one

For the next two Sundays, the Epistle reading offered by the lectionary comes from the longest and most theologically weighty letter written by Paul—that addressed “to all God’s beloved in Rome, who are called to be saints” (Rom 1:7). Although it has this specific, localised audience in view, the letter has become a declaration heard and taken up and studied carefully by Christians right around the world, across millennia of years.

It is generally regarded as the most explicit and detailed exposition of the theological commitments which had energised Saul of Tarsus to spend years of his life “to be a minister of Christ Jesus to the Gentiles in the priestly service of the gospel of God, so that the offering of the Gentiles may be acceptable, sanctified by the Holy Spirit” (Rom 15:16). For this enterprise, he is well-known as the “Apostle to the Gentiles”.

The passages on offer this coming Sunday (Rom 4:1–5, 13–17) and the following Sunday (Rom 5:1–11) come from the heart of the letter, the long section often described as presenting Paul’s key theological understanding of the grace of God by which people of faith are justified (reckoned as righteous, or put right with God). This theological understanding is set forth, initially, through a quotation from a short book in Hebrew Scripture, that of the prophet Habakkuk.

Habakkuk is a shadowy figure, known, really, for only one statement—just half of one verse. That is the short statement, “the righteous live by their faith [or faithfulness]” (2:4b), which stands as the text upon which Paul developed his important theological statement in Romans: “in it [the gospel] the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith; as it is written, ‘the one who is righteous will live by faith’” (Rom 1:17). As well, Paul quotes this verse in his letter to the Galatians (Gal 3:11) and the verse is cited in the “word of exhortation” sent to the Hebrews (Heb 10:38). So it appears in significant writings of the early Christian movement.

In the context of Habakkuk’s prophetic activity, the affirmation that “the righteous live by their faith [or faithfulness]” (2:4b) is the word that God gives to the prophet, responding to his complaints about what sufferings are taking place. Habakkuk’s complaints come because God is “rousing the Chaldeans, that fierce and impetuous nation, who march through the breadth of the earth to seize dwellings not their own” (1:6), and through their dreadful and fearsome activities, God is “destroying nations without mercy” (1:17).

That God is using foreigners to deal with Israel is a striking theological development—one that is at odds with the traditions that emphasise Israel as a chosen nation, holy and set apart, dedicated to the Lord; the nation alone through whom the Lord God works. That this God will use foreigners is a theme found also in the later writings of Deutero-Isaiah (Isa 40–55), where Cyrus, the Persian ruler, is acclaimed as the one chosen by God, the Messiah, to allow the people of Judah to return to their land (Isa 44:24–45:13).

That God is at work amongst people who are not of Israel resonates, of course, with the activity that Paul and his fellow-workers had been undertaking amongst the Gentiles (those not of the people of Israel)—although Paul is not working in a context of oppression and threatening invasion. So this brief citation from Habakkuk is entirely apposite for Paul’s work and his writings. And as the later chapters of Roman clearly show, God has indeed been at work amongst the Gentiles in Rome.

Paul quotes a string of scriptures to demonstrate “that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy” (Rom 15:9–12); he writes of his goal “to win obedience from the Gentiles, by word and deed, by the power of signs and wonders, by the power of the Spirit of God” (Rom 15:18–19); and he affirms “all the churches of the Gentiles” (Rom 16:4). The letter concludes with a prayer of thanks (although most likely not from the hand of Paul), celebrating that “the revelation of the mystery that was kept secret for long ages but is now disclosed, and through the prophetic writings is made known to all the Gentiles” (Rom 16:25–26).

Habakkuk laments and complains about the situation in Israel of his time (the years immediately before the Babylonian invasion of 587 BC). God instructs him to “look at the proud—their spirit is not right in them”, and to be assured that “the righteous live by their faith” (2:4). The theme of the faith of the righteous that is signalled here by the prophet is a central motif in Hebrew Scriptures. It appears in the ancestral stories concerning the key figures of Abraham (Gen 15:6), Saul (1 Sam 26:23), David (2 Sam 22:21–26; 1 Ki 3:6), and Solomon (1 Ki 10:9). It is the motif that Paul takes up for his magnum opus, his theological bequest to later believers.

*****

The theme articulated in Rom 1:17—the claim that it is in the Gospel that “the righteousness of God is revealed through faith for faith”—is set forth in more detail at 3:21–26. Paul declares that “the righteousness of God has been disclosed, and is attested by the law and the prophets, the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe”, and proceeds to explain that “they are now justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a sacrifice of atonement by his blood, effective through faith”. This was evident in the past (in the story of Israel), and is further evident in Paul’s time, demonstrating that God “himself is righteous and that he justifies the one who has faith in Jesus”.

This explanation is dense, compressed, and complex. Interestingly, the lectionary completely avoids this seminal theological passage, which has been so important for the development of the classic doctrine of the Atonement! (By contrast, portions of chapter 5 appear in the lectionary on four different occasions, and parts of chapter 8 on seven occasions.) There are many key theological terms in 3:21–26 which require unpacking and explanation. Paul proceeds to offer that in the chapters that follow.

Chapters 5–8 have classically been regarded as an extended exposition of what 3:21–26 has set out, climaxing in the doxology of 8:31-39 as the climactic moment of the letter (“[nothing] will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord”). In more recent interpretation, chapters 9–11 have been seen, not as an addendum (as earlier interpreters argued), but as a flourishing of the argument set out from 3:21 onwards, heading steadfastly to the doxological prayer of 11:33–36 (“O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God … to him be the glory forever. Amen.”)

My own reading is consistent with this latter line of interpretation. See

https://johntsquires.com/2020/08/10/god-has-not-rejected-his-people-all-israel-will-be-saved-rom-11/

Before all of this, however, Paul starts with the example of Abraham—for in Paul’s mind, the words written about Abraham in Genesis 15, ‘it was reckoned to him as righteousness’, “were written not for his sake alone, but for ours also” (Rom 4:23–24; the citation is from Gen 15:6).

The argument develops—unsurprisingly—in typical Pharisaic/rabbinic midrashic style—by posing questions, drawing on biblical texts, exploring details, and concluding with the text that draws the argument together—Abraham’s faith “was reckoned to him as righteousness” (Gen 15:6).

So we find the argument containing, first a general reference to Abraham (4:1–2), set forth as a rhetorical question which Paul nevertheless processes to answer! He does this by first quoting the key verse in his argument (4:3, quoting Gen 15:6)—introduced with a second rhetorical question—and then discussing what it means to “reckon” or to “justify the ungodly” (4:4–5).

Next, a quotation from the Psalms, beginning “blessed are those whose iniquities are forgiven” (4:6–8, citing Ps 32:1–2), which occasions a third question, posed in order to be immediately explored: exactly who is forgiven (4:9a)? Is this blessedness only for those circumcised (Jews), or does it encompass those beyond (Gentiles)?

Gen 15:6 is cited, for a second time, at 4:9b, opening the way for a discussion of when Abraham was “reckoned as righteous”—was it before he was circumcised, or after? This matter is stated in two short rhetorical questions (4:10a), followed immediately by the answer (4:10). The answer is obvious from a straightforward reading of the Genesis narrative; it was after Abraham was blessed by Melchizedek (Gen 14:7–15:6), before he was circumcised, after the birth of Ishmael (Gen 16:15–17:27). Circumcision, says Paul, is “a seal of the righteousness that he had by faith” (4:11), thereby making Abraham “the ancestor of all who believe without being circumcised” (4:11), as well as “the ancestor of the circumcised” (4:12).

This conclusion will prove to be foundational for Paul’s subsequent argument in the letter, which he has already flagged in earlier chapters: the Gospel is “the power of God for salvation to everyone who has faith, to the Jew first and also to the Greek” (1:16), and then, “all, both Jews and Greeks, are under the power of sin” (3:9), and finally, “the righteousness of God [is available] through faith in [or, the faith of] Jesus Christ for all who believe” (3:22).

Accordingly, he declares (in typical style, with questions driving to the obvious answer), “is God the God of Jews only? is he not the God of Gentiles also? Yes, of Gentiles also, since God is one” (3:29–30). The universal scope of God’s providential grace is clear; this is how God meets the universal spread of sinfulness amongst human beings.

In a following post, I will explore the origins of this style of developing an argument (quoting sources, posing questions, immediately providing answers) and continue on with an analysis of Paul’s argument in Romans 4.

Original Sin? or Innate Goodness? (Genesis 2, Romans 5; Lent 1A)

In one of his most memorable sayings, repeated by many in the centuries since he wrote his letter to the Romans, Paul declares that “God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us” (Rom 5:8). In the following verses, he goes on to discuss precisely how Jesus deals with sinfulness by drawing on his understanding of the second creation story (Gen 2:4b—3:24). Paul places Jesus alongside Adam, declaring that “just as one man’s trespass led to condemnation for all, so one man’s act of righteousness leads to justification and life for all” (Rom 5:18).

The argument forms the basis of the Epistle reading for this coming Sunday, the First Sunday in Lent (Rom 5:12–19).

Paul then restates this equation in the following paired affirmation, “just as by the one man’s disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man’s obedience the many will be made righteous” (Rom 5:19), before he concludes, “where sin increased, grace abounded all the more, so that, just as sin exercised dominion in death, so grace might also exercise dominion through justification leading to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord” (Rom 5:20b—21).

The reality of sinful behaviours amongst human beings cannot be denied. Throughout history, people have always experienced the selfishness, greed, manipulation, abuse, and hatred manifested by others (as well, of course, as loving, selfless, caring, supportive and encouraging behaviours and ways of relating). That this sinfulness needs to be addressed and dealt with cannot be ignored. That God, in Hebrew Scriptures, stands firm for justice and calls for covenant fidelity, is important. That Jesus, in turn, calls out unjust actions and invites sinful people to repent, is consistent with this earlier witness. As a society, we need to function in healthy ways that foster co-operation. Dealing with sin, which impedes this healthy functioning, is vitally important.

Where many people come unstuck in relation to sin, however, is when we consider the origin of that sinfulness. Are human beings born innately sinful? Or is this a way of behaving and relating to others that we learn as we grow and develop? Or, to put it in explicitly theological terms: are we human beings all caught in the grip of original sin?

*****

That is a view that was advocated centuries ago by Augustine of Hippo, and which has come to dominate theological understanding in the church of he ensuing centuries. Augustine read Paul’s words in Romans as a clear statement that every human being is born already scarred by sin. His view was that Paul understood the story in the early chapters of Genesis to be an explanation of this incontrovertible reality. As a result, Augustine declared that “the deliberate sin of the first man is the cause of original sin” (On Marriage and Concupisence, book 2, 26.43).

(Concupisence has a Latin origin: the root term is cupid, meaning desire or passion; it is given a suffix, –escere, used to change a noun into a verb and to signify entering into a particular state of being; and a prefix, con-, which serves to intensify the compound word. As a whole, it means “to desire strongly”; in theological usage, it usually refers to the innate tendency within human beings to sinfulness.)

Augustine based his view on a particular way of reading on Romans 5:12. The NRSV renders this verse as “just as sin came into the world through one man, and death came through sin, and so death spread to all because all have sinned”. A fair warning needs to be given: the argument about this verse is rather technical, because it depends on how we translate just two small words in the Greek original of this verse.

The two words in question are the preposition, epi, and the personal pronoun, ho, which comes immediately after it. Because the pronoun starts with an h sound (a “hard breathing” in Greek) and the preposition ends with a vowel, the natural inclination in Greek is that the preposition is modified so that it slides seamlessly into the pronoun. So epi hobecomes eph’ho.

But how to translate this short and seemingly simply phrase? Here’s where it really gets complicated! We need to take into account the phrase which comes before it, about sin, death, and one man, as well as the words which follow immediately after it, which are hugely significant: “all have sinned” (which of course goes to the heart of the idea of original sin).

Augustine wanted to read this text as stating that sin entered the world through Adam. Technically, he reads the Greek, eph’ho, as referring to the man, Adam. But scholars of Paul’s Greek have seen the problem with this interpretation: eph’ho [(ἐφ’ ᾧ)] as a reference to Adam is “both grammatically and exegetically impossible”, one says.

Rather, “eph’ho pantes hemarton [(ἐφ’ ᾧ πάντες ἥμαρτον)], can be safely interpreted as modifying the word, thanatos [(θάνατος)], which precedes it, and which grammatically is the only word which fits the context.” Each time the grammatical construction of the preposition epi [(ἐπί)] with the dative is used by Paul, it is always used as a relative pronoun which modifies a preceding noun (Rom 9:33; 10:19; 15:12; 2 Cor 5:4; Rom 6:21) or phrase (Phil 4:10).

So eph’ho [(ἐφ’ ᾧ)] is understood to modify thanatos [(θάνατος)]—kai houtos eis pantas anthropous ho thanatos dielthen eph’ho (thanato) pantes hemarton [(καὶ οὕτως εἰς πάντας ἀνθρώπους ὁ θάνατος διῆλθεν, ἐφ’ ᾧ (θάνατο) πάντες ἥμαρτον)]—”because of which” (death), or “on the basis of which” (death), or “for which (death) all have sinned.”

The quotes in the preceding paragraphs come from the technical discussion of this verse at https://hermeneutics.stackexchange.com/questions/14268/translation-of-romans-512

*****

Augustine bases his claim about original sin on his reading of the story of Genesis 2–3 (some of which appears in the lectionary for this coming Sunday, the First Sunday in Lent), which depicts the fall of Adam, from which all humans inherited innate sinfulness (original sin).

However, the problem is that the Genesis 1 account of creation which precedes this story (and which we read later in the year, on Trinity Sunday) makes it quite clear that the original state of humanity was that human beings, like all that God created, “was good”—indeed, that as the final act of that sequence of creation, humanity was “very good” (Gen 1:31). So much for original sin; humanity, according to this narrative, was part of a “very good” creation.

Indeed, Augustine was reading the sequence of early chapters in Genesis as historical narrative, and his understanding was that the consequences of “the fall” in Gen 3 was that every person born after Adam inherited that fallen state from the first human being. However, we know from a careful application of literary criticism, that the Adam story is myth which has an aetiological purpose, and that it is not an historical account.

That is, it does not give a realistic account of “things as they happened”, but rather, it is an imaginative story which tells of the reasons for the origin of things. It doesn’t answer the question, “what happened?”; rather, it responds to the question, “why are things like this?” So the Genesis story as a whole explains the good original state of humanity, before any decline or corruption took place. It is descriptive of how we find things, not prescriptive for how things should be.

In fact, we can see this nature of the story in the names given to these mythical first two human beings: the man, Adam (adam) was created “from the dust of the earth” (ha–adamah), and so his name signifies “the earth person” (Gen 2:7), whilst the woman, Eve (havah) was to be “the mother of all living creatures” (hay), and thus her name signifies “the giver of life” (Gen 3:20).

It’s not the case that what “occurs” with Adam and Eve has been passed on through human beings ever since; but, rather, it is the case that how we experience humanity has led to the creation of a story about Adam (the earth person) and Eve (the giver of life) as an explanation for the way that we experience ourselves, and other people on this earth.

*****

Augustine’s distinctive interpretation was his own initiative; most patristic writers prior to him who addressed this topic (Barnabas, Hermas, Justin Martyr, Origen of Alexandria, Clement of Rome, Ignatius of Antioch, Cyril of Jerusalem) offered explicitly different interpretations of the human state. By contrast, Clement of Alexandria accepted that sin was inherited from Adam, and Cyprian of Carthage argued for the necessity of infant baptism on the basis of a belief that humans were born sinful.

Augustine had developed his views in opposition to the view of his contemporary, Pelagius; the debates continued on into the medieval period, with significant contributions being made by the great theologians Anselm of Canterbury and Thomas Aquinas, as well as Franciscans such as Duns Scotus and William of Ockham. The Reformers, Martin Luther and Jean Calvin, adopted and developed the Augustinian view, which has held sway in the Western Church over subsequent centuries. Eastern Orthodoxy, by contrast, attributes the origin of sin to the Devil; what we humans have inherited from Adam is our mortality, but not any innate sinfulness.

This is all a long way, then, from prophetic fulminations against foolish, stupid, evil Israelites, caught in the error of their sinful ways, or the grace-filled encounters that Jesus had with sinners as he called “not the righteous but sinners”, or the formulaic affirmation of the first letter to Timothy, that “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners”, which has become the bedrock of certain contemporary theologies.

Whilst a recognition of sin is inherent in each of those texts, there is no indication in any way that such sinfulness is innate, inherited from birth, of the very essence of our human nature. The doctrine of original sin is not a biblical idea; it’s not something that we should be maintaining in our theological discourse and spiritual understanding.

But I think we are stuck with the scenario that Jesus ben Sirach described when he wrote his book, “pertaining to instruction and wisdom, so that … those who love learning might make even greater progress in living according to the law” (prelude to Sirach). He admonished his readers, “do not say, ‘His mercy is great, he will forgive the multitude of my sins,’ for both mercy and wrath are with him, and his anger will rest on sinners” (Sirach 5:6). That’s the paradox that sits, unresolved, throughout scripture, that we still need to grapple with for ourselves, when we think about human sinfulness.

*****

Plants and buildings, folly and wisdom (1 Cor 3; Epiphany 6A)

In recent weeks, we have traced the argument in the opening chapters of what we know as Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. The letter itself is positioned as a joint enterprise, written by Sosthenes, one of the leaders of the synagogue in Corinth (Acts 18:17), and Paul, a Pharisee who was well-trained in understanding Torah (Phil 3:5) and was known for being “advanced in Judaism” and “zealous for the traditions of my ancestors” (Gal 1:14).

So it should be no surprise that in this letter, they make regular use of scriptures drawn from their Jewish traditions and terms already familiar from their occurrence in the Hebrew Scriptures (at least, in the Greek translations that were available, such as the Septuagint). In fact, each section of the opening argument is shaped around Hebrew Scripture texts, as we have seen.

The opening message about “the word of the cross” (1 Cor 1:18–31) begins with scripture (1:19, citing Isa 29:14) and ends with scripture (1:31, quoting Jer 9:22–23). The second section with the declaration about “know nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified” (2:1–16) cites Isa 64:4 (at 2:9) and later concludes with a quotation from Isa 40:13 (at 2:16). In both instances, the concluding quotation is the lynchpin for the argument—delayed, in typical rabbinic style, to provide the “proof text” that draws the whole rhetorical sequence to a head.

A similar kind of structure appears in chapter 3 of the letter, although sadly the lectionary has severed the start from the end. This coming Sunday, Epiphany 6, we are offered 1 Cor 3:1–9, a discussion about the leaders of the groups that had developed within the community, fracturing the unity that was desired (see 1 Cor 1:10–17). In that early section, Paul had identified Cephas, Apollos, himself, and indeed Christ, as the leaders of four different factions. He returns to two of those names, Apollos and his own, in this section of the letter (see 3:4–6, 22).

In addressing that sorry situation at the start of the letter, Paul and Sosthenes affirm that their mission was “to proclaim the gospel, and not with eloquent wisdom, so that the cross of Christ might not be emptied of its power” (1:17). The irony, of course, is that the letter uses precisely the finely-honed tools of rhetoric to convey that gospel truth; see my analysis at

https://johntsquires.com/2023/01/23/the-paradox-of-the-word-of-the-cross-in-corinth-1-cor-1-epiphany-4a/

and

https://johntsquires.com/2023/02/02/who-has-known-the-mind-of-the-lord-1-cor-2-epiphany-5a/

Sadly, the second part of the argument in chapter 3, where the writers build on what has been stated in the earlier part, is allocated by the lectionary to Epiphany 7 (1 Cor 3:10–23); but in the current year, when Easter falls relatively early, there is no Epiphany 7. So a strict following of the lectionary means that we miss the concluding section, and the punchline, of this third extended argument.

The argument of this third chapter comes to a head with the quotation of two scripture texts: Job 5:12 (at 3:19) and then Psalm 94:11 (at 3:20). Both texts puncture any claim to importance or priority amongst “the wise”—the heart of the argument that has been advanced since the initial scripture quotation, of Isa 29:14, at 1 Cor 1:19. So the conclusion.

Whilst the beginning of the argument in chapter 3 has no explicit scripture quotation, nor even any defined allusion, to scriptural texts, there are elements that bear on Hebrew Scripture. The imagery of planting and watering, and fruit growing (3:6) would surely have been evocative to those familiar with the agricultural history of Israel. A common symbol for the people, the nation, was the vineyard (Exod 15:17; Psalm 80:8–15; Isa 5:1–7; 60:21; Jer 2:21; Ezek 17:5–10; 19:10; Amos 9:15). As was reiterated in these scriptural passages, God planted the nation, and God gave growth to the people as “the vine”—an affirmation that the letter to the Corinthians firmly maintains: “God gave the growth” (3:7).

The imagery of building (3:9–15) also has scriptural resonances. Hebrew Scripture contains a long history-like multi-book saga of Israel that the Deuteronomist constructed, drawing on various sources, to narrate the story of the creation and flourishing of the kingdom of Israel (including both Israel and Judah). There can be no doubt that a high point in this saga was reached with the construction of “a building” on Mount Zion. The house of the Lord was the pinnacle of the nation which had been promised (in Genesis), created (in the other books of Torah, and then in Joshua and Judges), and established (in the narratives of Samuel and Kings).

This building was the work of perhaps the greatest of all Kings of Israel, Solomon (see 1 Kings 3—8). It was the fulfilment of a promise made to David (2 Sam 7, especially verse 13). The house built was to the the Temple, where the Lord God dwelt in the Holy of Holies (Exod 24—27). The centrality of the Temple, the house of God, in the religious, political, and social life of the people of Israel was clear.

Paul and Sosthenes use these scriptural references to good effect in addressing the difficulties of the situation in Corinth. They affirm that they, together with others active in planting and nurturing communities of faith, as well as the people in Corinth who participate in such communities, are indeed “God’s field, God’s building” (3:9).

The imagery of plants in the field, watered and nurtured, growing together (3:6–8) both draws on the Israelite language of Israel as the vineyard, but also counters the situation of division and discord in Corinth. Rather than claiming “I belong to XX”, as was noted previously (1:12) and is repeated here (3:4), the Corinthians are challenged to look for a “common purpose” (3:8) and to be “God’s servants, working together” (3:9).

The language of a building (3:10–11) points to the central building structure in the kingdom of Israel, the Temple, and reminds the Corinthians that they have been carefully and deliberately placed on a form foundation, and “that foundation is Jesus Christ” (3:11). The language here recalls the central focus articulated earlier in the letter: “the message about the cross” (1:18), the singular focus on “Jesus Christ and him crucified” (2:2). The wisdom that God offers through this follow of crucifixion is what will build up the community (3:12–13).

So the conclusion is drawn with a typical rhetorical question: “do you not know that you are God’s temple?” (3:16), followed by a strengthening affirmation, “God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple” (3:17). The introduction of the age-old Israelite notion of holiness here thus sets up the argument for what follows in subsequent chapters, as instances of unholy behaviour are addressed.

The argument of this chapter draws to a familiar close, with two scripture citations that underline the power of divine weakness (if that is what the crucifixion of Jesus might have shown), the folly of divine wisdom (again made evident through the cross). The advice is clear: “if you think you are wise … you should become fools” (3:18); and then, “let no one boast about human leaders” (3:21).

To substantiate this, the word of Job is first cited (Job 3:15 at 1 Cor 3:19)—God “catches the wise in their craftiness”—followed by the words of the psalmist, “the Lord knows the thoughts of the wise, that they are futile” (Ps 94:11 at 1 Cor 3:20). The argument proposed in principle at 1:18–25 comes to its culmination here through its application to the Corinthians. Wisdom is folly, power is weakness; yet in God’s weakness, power is manifested, and in God’s foolishness, wisdom is declared.

Who has known the mind of the Lord? (1 Cor 2; Epiphany 5A)

The cross is the benchmark for understanding how believers are to behave, how they are to relate to one another, and how the community that they form is to be described. This is the thesis that Paul and Sosthenes propose near the start of their lengthy letter to “the church of God that is in Corinth, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints” (1 Cor 1:1–2), and also to “all those who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (1:2).

As we have already noted, “the word of the cross” features prominently in the authentic letters of Paul. See

https://johntsquires.com/2023/01/16/the-rhetoric-of-the-cross-1-cor-1-advent-3a/

It also shapes the way that Sosthenes and Paul begin to work their way through the many issues that have been festering within the community in Corinth—issues which apparently have been brought to their attention by “Chloe’s people” (1:11) and which may well have been further developed in discussions in person with Stephanas, Fortunatus, and Achaicus, when they came to Ephesus (16:17). We have explored this initial argument (in 1:18–31) at

https://johntsquires.com/2023/01/23/the-paradox-of-the-word-of-the-cross-in-corinth-1-cor-1-epiphany-4a/

The thesis concerning “the word of the cross” continues to be advanced in the following section of the letter (2:1–16), which is offered by the lectionary as the Epistle for this coming Sunday. It is worth reading right through to the end of the chapter in v.16, rather than stopping at v.13, as the lectionary suggests, since (in my view) v.16 provides the capstone of the argument of the whole two chapters, with its citation of yet another scriptural text, from the prophet Isaiah (1 Cor 2:16, citing Isa 40:13).

It is, after all, only “Jesus Christ, and him crucified” (2:2), which is at the heart of the preaching undertaken by Paul, who “did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom” (2:1), who preached not trusting in his own strength, but “with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power” (2:4). Paul is concerned to ensure that the faith of the Corinthians “might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God” (2:5).

It is “Jesus Christ, and him crucified” who provides the foundation, also, for the letter which Paul writes in association with Sosthenes, in which they set out “the message of the cross” (1:18). The two authors expound this central message through a sequence of clearly-shaped sections (1:18–31; 2:1–12; 3:1–20). The part of the argument as presented by Sosthenes and Paul in this chapter (2:1–12) both continues in the rhetorically-shaped form that we have seen in 1:18–31, and follows the rabbinic pattern of drawing from scripture in the argument (2:9, citing Isa 64:4), finishing with a climactic quotation that “proves” the point (Isa 40:13 at 2:16).

The rhetorical shaping is evident particularly in the oppositions that are proposed in the letter in a sequence of antithetical parallelisms. First, the Corinthians hear the declaration, “I did not come to you … in lofty words or wisdom … [rather] I came to you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling” (2:1, 3). Then follows, “my speech and my proclamation were not with plausible words of wisdom, but with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power” (2:4).

The writers declare that they speak wisdom, “not a wisdom of this age or of the rulers of this age … [but rather] God’s wisdom, secret and hidden, which God decreed before the ages for our glory” (2:6–7). They continue, “we have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit that is from God” (2:12), and then, “we speak of these things in words not taught by human wisdom but taught by the Spirit” (2:13).

Finally, the argument draws towards its conclusion with this striking application to the Corinthian situation: “those who are unspiritual do not receive the gifts of God’s Spirit … [rather] those who are spiritual discern all things” (2:14–15). The antithetical parallelisms (not … but …, regularly repeated) have functioned throughout to throw the emphasis always on the second half of the pairing, for that is the point of each statement.

So the first half of each anthesis sets up the expectation with an offering that is negated, before the second half affirms what is actually being proposed by the letter-writers: they bring a demonstration of the Spirit, God’s wisdom, being taught by the Spirit, the Spirit from God, and able to discern all things through the Spirit. That’s really the short-hand summary of what the argument is, stripped of its rhetorical finesse.

*****

Sosthenes, we presume, was one of the leaders of the synagogue in Corinth (Acts 18:17). Paul had been well-trained in understanding Torah (Phil 3:5) and was known for being “advanced in Judaism” and “zealous for the traditions of my ancestors” (Gal 1:14). So it should be no surprise that in this letter, they make regular use of scriptures drawn from their Jewish traditions—and follow traditional rabbinic patterns in the way they use these passages.

The two prophetic citations they make in this chapter were spoken by prophets whose names we do not know. Their oracles were included in the scroll that bears the name of the eighth century BCE prophet, Isaiah, who provided advice to kings in Judah in the decades prior to the people being taken into exile in Babylon. These later oracles may well have been shaped by prophets who traced their allegiance to Isaiah, who may well have been trained within an ongoing “school of Isaiah”. Such a school is hypothesised on the basis of Isaiah’s instructions to “bind up the testimony, seal the teaching among my disciples” (Isa 8:4).

The first oracle cited in 1 Corinthians 2 comes from the time when Israel had been in exile in Babylon for some time, and was looking with hope to the promised return to the land (Isaiah 40–55). The second oracle cited was from an earlier time, when Israel was seeking to re-establish itself as a functioning nation in a land and city that had been devastated by the destruction of invasion some decades earlier (Isaiah 55–66).

The first text, cited earlier in the argument as the subsidiary passage, is “what no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him” (Isa 64:4). These words were spoken during a prayer of petition in which the unknown prophet at the time of restoration urges God to act: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down … to make your name known to your adversaries, so that the nations might tremble at your presence!” (Isa 64:1–2).

This prophet confesses that “we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand” and pleads, “do not be exceedingly angry, O Lord, and do not remember iniquity forever” (Isa 64:8–9), observing that “your holy cities have become a wilderness, Zion has become a wilderness, Jerusalem a desolation” (Isa 64:10). The prophet’s faith is expressed in the final phrase of the cited text, in that the Lord “works for those who wait for him” (Isa 64:4). It is this faith which is referenced during the argument of 1 Corinthians 2.

The second text, which provides the climax to the argument to the Corinthians, comes from the other unknown prophet, still in exile, who offers his people words of comfort, asking God to “speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins” (Isa 40:2).

As the voice cries out in the wilderness to “prepare the way of the Lord, make straight a highway” 40:3) and to “lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings, lift it up, do not fear” (40:9), he prepares his people to receive the restorative presence of God, who “gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless” (40:29).

The oracle identifies the mystery of the way that the Lord works, pondering: “Who has directed the spirit of the Lord, or as his counselor has instructed him? Whom did he consult for his enlightenment, and who taught him the path of justice? Who taught him knowledge, and showed him the way of understanding?” (40:13–14).

This is the part of the text that Sosthenes and Paul deploy as their concluding “proof text”, as they remind the Corinthians that any claim to have access to “the depths of God” (1 Cor 2:10), to comprehend “what is truly God’s” (2:11), needs to be measured by “the gifts bestowed on us by God” (2:12), the “things God has revealed to us through the Spirit” (2:10), which is what is communicated through “the message about the cross” (1:18), the proclamation of “Christ crucified” (1:23; 2:2).

So the argument in this section strengthens the polemic that was already present in the critique of “the world” in 1:18-31. In that section, the criticism was levelled against “the wisdom of the world” (1:20-21, 25, 27) and also against worldly power (1:24-25). In this section, the positive contribution of the Spirit to God’s wisdom is set forth; and the way that the Spirit operates is through the foolishness of the cross, which is indeed a clear insight into “the mind of the Lord”.

In this way, the letter writers articulate “the message of the cross”, consistent with Paul’s decision to “know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified”.

The paradox of “the word of the cross” in Corinth (1 Cor 1; Epiphany 4A)

https://johntsquires.com/2023/01/16/the-rhetoric-of-the-cross-1-cor-1-advent-3a/

The thesis is stated in a rhetorically balanced, theologically incisive two-part statement, the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God (1:18). The claim is worked out in the first two chapters of the letter, in passages that we will hear this week (1 Cor 1:18–31) and then next week (2:1–12). It then serves as the basis for much of the ethical and theological discussion that follows in later chapters of the letter.

In the two passages currently in view, Sosthenes and Paul remind the Corinthians that “we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (1:23), that they “decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified” (2:2), and that the paradoxical wisdom that is at the heart of the story of Jesus, “none of the rulers of this age understood this; for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory” (2:8).

The rhetorical structuring of this paradoxical argument is evident throughout the whole of the passage that the lectionary offers for this Sunday (1:18–31). There is a neat symmetry of clauses in each verse of the passage, with frequent use of balancing subsidiary phrases continuing the symmetrical structure. I’ve attempted to show this schematically as follows:

*****

To begin, Sosthenes and Paul ground their argument in prophetic declarations drawn from the Hebrew scriptures—in fact, explicit citations bookmark their argument at 1:19 (quoting Isaiah) and 1:31 (quoting Jeremiah). This is typical of rabbinic literature, where an initial citation (a subsidiary text) begins an argument, and then the primary text for the matter being addressed concludes the argument. This was the fourth of Rabbi Hillel’s seven principles for scripture interpretation (Aboth de Rabbi Nathan 37).

So there should be no surprise that we find such a technique employed in a letter written by Sosthenes, a leader of the synagogue (the place where scripture interpretation was taught and debates about scripture flourished), and Paul, trained as a Pharisee (at the feet of Gamaliel, if Acts 22:3 reflects historical reality) and well-versed in the Torah, the first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures (Phil 3:5; Rom 7:12, 22). As Jews immersed in the knowledge of Torah and the application of scripture to daily life, this way of speaking and writing was second nature to them.

After stating their thesis (1:18), Sosthenes and Paul cited the prophet Isaiah in support (Isa 29:14). In the typical rabbinic fashion of arguing a point, this first quotation is the subsidiary text for their argument. The words come from an oracle that the prophet delivers when Israel and Judah had been invaded by the Assyrian power to the north (2 Kings 17–19). This invasion of 721 BCE is characterised by Isaiah as an expression of God’s judgement (Isa 28:21–22). The northern kingdom had been conquered (2 Kings 17) and the southern kingdom was invaded (2 Kings 18). Two decades later, under Sennacherib, the city of Jerusalem itself was under siege (Isa 29:1–3). Ultimately Sennacherib withdrew his army back to Nineveh and was killed by his sons (2 Kings 19:36–37).

Whilst the experience of the people in the besieged city of Jerusalem was one of “moaning and lamentation” (Isa 29:2), the prophet presses the claim that this is brought about by God himself: “the Lord has poured out upon you a spirit of deep sleep; he has closed your eyes, you prophets, and covered your heads, you seers” (Isa 29:10). This, the prophet insists, “comes from the Lord of hosts; he is wonderful in counsel, and excellent in wisdom” (Isa 28:29).

Because the people claim allegiance to God but fail to live according to the covenant they have made with God—“their worship of me is a human commandment learned by rote” (Isa 29:13)–God’s intervention through the Assyrian encirclement of Jerusalem will mean that “the wisdom of their wise shall perish, and the discernment of the discerning shall be hidden” (Isa 29:14). Eventually, through this intense hardship, “those who err in spirit will come to understanding, and those who grumble will accept instruction” (Isa 29:24).

It is this message of the paradoxical inversion of the widely-accepted wisdom by divine intervention that the apostle and his co-author draw on, when they remind the Corinthians of God’s way: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart” (1 Cor 1:19, quoting Isa 29:14b).

*****

In developing their argument in the following verses, Sosthenes and Paul explain this inversion to the Corinthians in three compact sequences. First, they pose a series of three rhetorical questions ending with a fourth question that expounds the paradoxical nature of how God acts:

The implied answer, of course, is “yes”.

Then follows a doublet with matching halves (wisdom of God, wisdom of the world; foolishness, salvation):

The pattern of wisdom-wisdom, folly-?? is broken with the declaration of salvation for believers; this is what “God decided”.

The third sequence contrasts Jews with Greeks (that is, Gentiles) but then places both of them in contrast to the proclamation of “Christ crucified”. The word of the cross functions as the definitive marker; this is the pivot on which the section turns.

The word of the cross—the proclamation of “Christ crucified”—might be understood as a stumbling block and a folly, but is actually a demonstration of divine power and wisdom. It is in the cross that the age-old dynamic of how God works is seen: it is an upheaval, a reversal, an overturning of received wisdom—just as Isaiah had been proclaiming to his fellow Judahites eight centuries earlier.

The conclusion is made clear in a punchy doublet in parallel paradox:

*****

In what follows next, attention turns to the actual community of believers in Corinth. The letter writers invite the believers in Corinth to “consider your own call, brothers and sisters”, followed by two triplets of rhetorically powerful statements:

That few were wise, powerful, or born as nobles in Corinth should come as no surprise. Certainly, a number of high-status names are mentioned in the letter (Stephanus, Fortunatus, and Acaicus at 16:17; and perhaps Chloe, if “Chloe’s people” at 1:11 are her servants), and other letters demonstrate a similar presence of high-status people, such as those who host “the church in the house of” Aquila and Priscilla (1 Cor 16:19; Rom 16:3), as well as a number of those mentioned in the string of names in Rom 16:3–16.

However, later in the letter we learn that when the community of believers comes together, some enjoy a rich meal and get drunk, while others starve (1 Cor 11:21). The condemnation is on those who “humiliate those who have nothing” (11:22); they are instructed, “when you come together to eat, wait for one another” (11:33). Here, as in a number of other places in the letter, the teaching is given that all members of the community are to be regarded as equal, for “in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit” (12:13).

Indeed, in the second century, Pliny would describe Christians as being “of every age, of every rank, of both sexes” and “not only in the towns, but also in the villages and farms” (Pliny, Epist. 10.96.9). And social-scientific commentators on the early Jesus movement have published careful analyses that support the notion that early Christian communities contained a cross-section of society (see Gerd Thiessen, The First Followers of Jesus, on the rural origins of the movement, and Wayne Meeks, The First Urban Christians, on its consolidation in the cities of the Roman Empire).

So in the rhetorically powerful argument of 1:18–31, God’s paradoxical choice is emphasised; God chose fools, weaklings, and lowly despised people, not wise, powerful, noble-born. In the second triplet, the final affirmation is extended with another rhetorical intensifier, reinforcing “the wisdom from God” with three additional theological claims (righteousness, sanctification, and redemption).

*****

At the end of the argument, in typical rabbinic style, a closing citation clinches the case, with words from the prophet Jeremiah (Jer 9:23–24): “as it is written, ‘Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord’” (1 Cor 1:31). This is the primary scripture passage which undergirds the argument that commenced in 1 Cor 1:19 with the citation of the subsidiary passage from Isaiah.

Jeremiah lived at a turning point in the history of Israel. The northern kingdom had been conquered by the Assyrians in 721 BCE; the elite classes were taken into exile, the land was repopulated with people from other nations (2 Kings 17). The southern kingdom had been invaded by the Assyrians in 701 BCE, but they were repelled (2 Kings 18:13–19:37). King Hezekiah made a pact with the Babylonians, but the prophet Isaiah warned that the nation would eventually fall to the Babylonians (2 Kings 20:12–19). Babylon conquered Assyria in 607 BCE and pressed hard to the south; the southern kingdom fell in 587 BCE (2 Kings 24–25) and “Judah went into exile out of its land” (2 Kings 25:21).

Jeremiah lived in the latter years of the southern kingdom, through into the time of exile. He was sent into exile in Egypt (Jer 43:1–8), even though most of his fellow Judahites were taken to Babylon. The difficult experiences of Jeremiah as a prophet colour many of his pronouncements. That is certainly the case for the long oracle from which the one-line quotation at 1 Cor 1:31 is drawn.

“My joy is gone, grief is upon me, my heart is sick”, the prophet laments (Jer 8:18), posing a question that has come into popular speech in later times: “Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there? Why then has the health of my poor people not been restored?” (Jer 8:22).

Jeremiah warns of the coming devastation that the Babylonians will bring, framing it as God’s righteous judgement: “I will make Jerusalem a heap of ruins, a lair of jackals; and I will make the towns of Judah a desolation, without inhabitant” (Jer 9:11). Accordingly, the prophet poses the question, “who is wise enough to understand this?” (Jer 9:12), calls for the people to mourn (Jer 9:17–23), and advises them that the Lord declares, “Do not let the wise boast in their wisdom, do not let the mighty boast in their might, do not let the wealthy boast in their wealth; but let those who boast boast in this, that they understand and know me, that I am the Lord; I act with steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth, for in these things I delight, says the Lord” (Jer 9:23–24).

This is the declaration from which Sosthenes and Paul take the one line to draw the argument to a close, pressing the paradoxical way by which God overturns the power of the world and inverts the wisdom of the world. There can be no boasting in human wisdom. Trust can only be placed in the wisdom of God, which has its own logic and distinctive purpose. Boasting is feasible only in this context: “as it is written, ‘Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord’” (1 Cor 1:31). That is what “the word of the cross” is, to the believers in Corinth–and to “all those who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ”.

*****

	John T Squires on The end of the Assembly of Con…
	Dejan Siljanovski on The end of the Assembly of Con…
	John T Squires on Why Jesus never did, and never…
	Always on a donkey… on Why Jesus never did, and never…
	paulinglis1 on The end of the Assembly of Con…

	John T Squires on The end of the Assembly of Con…
	Dejan Siljanovski on The end of the Assembly of Con…
	John T Squires on Why Jesus never did, and never…
	Always on a donkey… on Why Jesus never did, and never…
	paulinglis1 on The end of the Assembly of Con…