Question

The World Missionary Conference, Edinburgh 1910, was the birthplace of the modern ecumenical movement.’ (K. S. Latourette).

To what extent is Latourette’s claim justified in terms of the Conference itself and the development of the World Council of Churches?

Abstract

This paper argues that the World Missionary Conference of Edinburgh, 1910, cannot claim to be ‘ecumenical’ in the modern sense, and thus should not be considered the ‘birthplace of the modern ecumenical movement’. To establish this, the Conference is evaluated in terms of its geographical and ecclesiastical ‘ecumenicality’ and found wanting on both counts. The ‘modernness’ of Edinburgh 1910 is then assessed by comparing it with previous mission conferences and subsequent ecumenical movements, including the World Council of Churches. Particular note is made of the imperialism and triumphalism that pervaded the Conference. Finally, the World Missionary Conference is held up to Latourette’s own analysis of the characteristics of the modern ecumenical movement; of his four characteristics, the Conference makes, at best, minor contributions to two and is at odds with the other two. Thus Latourette’s claim that the Edinburgh Conference should be thought of as the ‘birthplace of the modern ecumenical movement’ is shown to be unpersuasive.

Essay

In 1954, Kenneth Scott Latourette famously claimed that, ‘The World Missionary Conference, Edinburgh 1910, was the birthplace of the modern ecumenical movement.’¹ He supported this assertion by adducing seven evidences that the Conference ‘marked a distinct advance over its predecessors,’² namely: (a) its representative nature; (b) that it enlisted and empowered a younger generation of leaders; (c) its institutional continuity with later ecumenical organisations; (d) its rigorous preparations for deliberations; (e) the presence of members from so-called ‘younger churches'; (f) the network of ecumenical relationships established at and in preparation for the Conference; and (g) its ecclesiastical breadth as a result of its self-limiting of scope.³ Broadly, these may be collected into arguments for the modernity of the World Missionary Conference (a – e) and for its ecumenicality (e – g). These categories also encompass the challenges offered to Latourette’s view, and so form a useful framework for deliberation.

Before embarking upon this discussion, however, it is important to consider Latourette’s assumption that the ecumenical movement ‘was in large part the outgrowth of the missionary movement';⁴ for if this is proven false then the rest of his argument fails with it. The missionary movement largely sees church unity as a means to the end of evangelisation; only occasionally do they acknowledge the relationship operating also in the reverse direction.⁵ The ecumenical movement, on the other hand, sees church unity as a necessary end in itself, with more effective evangelism a happy by-product. The two are related, but not identical as they are aimed at different ends, and must not be conflated.⁶ Yet, with this qualification granted, Latourette’s assumption may be permitted.

Was the World Missionary Conference of 1910 truly ‘ecumenical’? Edinburgh was initially planned as the ‘Third Ecumenical Missionary Conference’, but the word ‘ecumenical’ was dropped in July 1908 to avoid confusion arising from its recently acquired technical sense.⁷ Nevertheless, Latourette rightly argues that the presence of Anglo-Catholics represents a significant advance upon previous conferences, which were largely gatherings of evangelicals.⁸ This feat was achieved by a voluntary limitation upon the scope of the Conference in two important respects. Firstly, it was agreed by the international organising committee in July 1907 that ‘no resolution shall be allowed which involves questions of doctrine or Church polity with regard to which the Churches or Societies taking part in the Conference differ among themselves’.⁹ Secondly, the scope of the Conference was limited to missions in regions that could unambiguously be described as non-Christian, thus excluding Latin America and Russia.¹⁰ These measures were sufficient to quell the of Anglo-Catholic elements in the Church of England, resulting in their participation in the Conference. As J. H. Oldham wrote to John Mott, they had ‘never done anything of the kind before, and I think this marks an important event in the religious history of this country.’¹¹ Yet the Conference remained ‘decidedly Protestant, and broadly evangelical’.¹² There were no representatives of the Roman, Orthodox or the fledgling Pentecostal movement amongst the delegates.¹³ Thus, though it was ‘more comprehensively ecclesiastical’¹⁴ than its immediate predecessors, the World Missionary Conference of 1910 was still far from being ‘ecumenical’ in the ecclesiastical sense.

The second argument adduced by Latourette in characterising the Conference as ‘ecumenical’ is the presence of members of the ‘younger’ churches.¹⁵ Their presence was a ‘breath of fresh air’ that ‘stirred into being a whole series of national Christian councils all over the world’.¹⁶ Though numerically few,¹⁷ these delegates were accorded a status out of proportion with their number; six of the forty-seven public addresses were allocated to them, and all were active in the discussions.¹⁸ Yet most missionary societies failed to fulfil even the modest request from the international organising committee that they include ‘one or two natives from mission lands’.¹⁹ Stanley concludes:

What proved decisive was Thompson’s conviction that the ‘younger’ churches were not yet ready to take their place in such exalted company: ‘I do not think the time is ripe for the inclusion of delegates appointed by the Churches in non-Christian lands in any great Conference such as ours.’²⁰

Thus, the Conference as a whole remained predominantly Anglo-American in spite of individual efforts by Mott and Oldham to the contrary.²¹ Once again, whilst it represented an advance on previous conferences, the World Missionary Conference of 1910 fell short of being comprehensively ‘ecumenical’ in the geographical sense.

That the World Missionary Conference of 1910 fostered and improved ecumenical relationships no-one will deny.²² Yet this too was limited in scope since networks were largely formed amongst Anglo-American evangelicals, the predominant demographic. The major advance on previous conferences in this regard was that the delegates were representatives of the missionary societies rather than missions enthusiasts; thus the relationships formed were amongst those already active in the missionary movement, and so more readily converted into tangible results.

Thus, the Conference was not fully ecumenical in the geographical or ecclesiastical sense. Yet it may still be admitted that Edinburgh was the ‘birthplace of the modern ecumenical movement’²³ if it can be shown that it was in some sense ‘modern’ in a way previous movements and conferences were not. But was Edinburgh 1910 truly the herald of a ‘modern’ era or simply another step (albeit a significant one) along the way?

In establishing the ‘modernity’ of the World Missionary Conference it is necessary to consider the ways in which it has continuity with future developments and discontinuity with past initiatives. Latourette acknowledges the importance of previous conferences, notably in London (1878 and 1888) and New York (1900), stating that ‘Edinburgh 1910 was the outgrowth and climax of earlier gatherings’.²⁴ Yet he argues that the Edinburgh meeting was an advance in several respects. Some of these have already been highlighted, including the presence of Anglo-Catholics and members of ‘younger’ churches, and the limiting of the scope and membership of the Conference. To these Latourette adds: (a) the significant preparation done for the Conference, in the form of the eight Commissions and the employment of a full-time Secretary (Oldham) to oversee them; (b) the enlisting and empowering of a younger generation of leaders; and, most significantly, (c) the organisations formed directly or indirectly as a result of the Conference, particularly the appointment of a Continuation Committee to carry forward the work of the Conference.²⁵

The Commissions were not a new initiative at Edinburgh, but the scope of them was unprecedented.²⁶ ‘Missions were becoming a matter of induction and experiment in which method was everything,’²⁷ and this impacted on the ecumenical movement in several significant ways. Firstly, commission members and correspondents were chosen on the basis of their qualifications, rather than their denominational affiliations, thus promoting an ‘ecumenical atmosphere’.²⁸ Getting people of such diverse ecclesiastical and geographical backgrounds to collaborate was a significant milestone for the ecumenical movement.²⁹ Secondly, the content of the reports issued by the commissions pointed up the need for ecclesiastical unity in order to achieve global evangelisation. Thirdly, this pattern of questionnaires and reports for deliberation by the Conference was adopted by later gatherings, including meetings of the International Missionary Council in 1928, 1938 and 1948, the Conference on Life and Work at Oxford in 1937, and the first Assembly of the World Council of Churches in 1948. Thus the World Missionary Conference was closer in methodology to the ecumenical conferences and movements that followed it than those that preceded.

The two names most commonly associated with the World Missionary Conference are John Mott and Joseph Oldham, its Chairman and Secretary respectively. These two men were propelled to a new preeminence as a result of the Edinburgh Conference. In Mott’s case, the Conference came at a crucial time, having recently been offered a position at Yale as the head of a newly reformed Divinity School.³⁰ Oldham’s suggestion that ‘the climax of your life work’ might come from the Edinburgh Conference was to prove prescient,³¹ and Mott admitted that that thought ‘may yet be the determining factor’ in declining the invitation, a decision he made within a few weeks of so writing.³² Oldham himself, though initially reluctant to be part of the Continuation Committee formed as a result of the Conference, was eventually persuaded by the ‘advantages of enlisting [Mott’s] tremendous energies in the service of the missionary movement’.³³ Thus the Edinburgh Conference was instrumental in more tightly binding these two laymen to the ecumenical mission movement.³⁴ Yet it is also true that the change effected by the conference was one of scale rather than direction, for both were already involved in ecumenical missions organisations and (the Yale invitation not withstanding) likely to remain so.³⁵

The Continuation Committee itself was also a notable influence upon later ecumenical institutions. From its actions sprang an ecumenical journal, The International Review of Missions, and the International Missionary Council (I.M.C.), thus ensuring the ‘institutionalisation of communication and co-ordination between mission actors’.³⁶ Yet Latourette’s claim that the Continuation Committee was also ‘in part responsible for the two organizations, the World Conference on Faith and Order and the Universal Christian Council for Life and Work’³⁷ is overstated. Specifically, the assertion that ‘It was as a delegate to the Edinburgh Conference that Bishop Charles H. Brent saw the vision which led him to initiate’ the Faith and Order movement has been strongly challenged.³⁸ There seems even less justification for connecting the World Missionary Conference to Life and Work, since the primary driving force behind that organisation, Nathan Söderblom, was not even present at Edinburgh.³⁹ Nevertheless, it is true that both organisations readily adopted the idea of forming their own Continuation Committees.

One of the strongest arguments against continuity between the World Missionary Conference and subsequent ecumenical movements was its noticeable imperialism. In ruling out discussion of South American mission fields, the Conference relegated the global south to a secondary place, reinforcing the belief that ‘mission was what the West did to the rest of the world’.⁴⁰ Commission VIII reported on ‘the duty of the Church in the West to transmit to the Church newly planted in the mission field as rich and full and complete an interpretation of Christianity as possible’.⁴¹ Newbigin argues that ‘there were strong voices bringing a Christian critique to bear on elements of the so-called Christian civilization’ yet concedes that there was still a confidence in missions born primarily of a confidence in western civilisation.⁴² Mott, in his work based on the Commission I materials, acknowledges that ‘The evangelisation of the non-Christian world is not alone a European and an American enterprise; it is to an even greater degree an Asiatic and an African enterprise’,⁴³ yet this seems representative of his own view rather than that of the Conference at large. This by itself is sufficient to put the Edinburgh Conference at odds with modern missionary (let alone ecumenical) movements.

Further dissonance between the World Missionary Conference and today’s ecumenical movements is discovered in the triumphalistic message proclaimed by the Conference. This is most evident in the report of Commission VIII, wherein the rhetoric occasionally devolves into militaristic metaphors: ‘The work is a campaign of allies'; ‘the Christian forces are confronting their gigantic task without… sufficient generalship’ and so on.⁴⁴ In this Mott shows himself typical, as evidenced by his closing address: ‘The end of the Conference is the beginning of the conquest’.⁴⁵

Thus the relationship between Edinburgh and later movements is primarily one of common personnel and methodology, rather than being organic. This conclusion encompasses also the Conference’s connection to the World Council of Churches (W.C.C.), which came about as an amalgamation of the Life and Work and Faith and Order movements in 1948, and only incorporated the International Missionary Council at the New Dehli Assembly of the W.C.C. in 1961.⁴⁶ Significantly, the first secretary general of the W.C.C., Willem Visser t’ Hooft, in tracing the ‘genesis of the World Council of Churches’, takes as his starting point the Encyclical of the Ecumenical Patriarchate (1920);⁴⁷ he mentions the Edinburgh Conference only in connection with the its leading figures, Mott and Oldham.

In the same essay in which he proclaims Edinburgh 1910 to be ‘the birthplace of the modern ecumenical movement’, Latourette concludes by offering four characteristics of this same movement: (a) it was a movement ‘almost world-wide in its scope’, which ‘embraced both older and younger churches'; (b) ‘co-operation was largely by national and regional units… drawn into a global structure'; (c) it respected ‘historical confessional and denominational confessions'; and (d) ‘Unity was sought not as an end in itself but as a means to evangelism’.⁴⁸ As shown above, the first two were patently untrue of the World Missionary Conference, limited as it was in geographical and ecclesiastical scope; and, whilst the latter two may be true, there is little evidence to suggest innovation in these areas at Edinburgh. On Latourette’s own analysis, then, the Edinburgh Conference is not congruent with the modern ecumenical movement.

Thus Latourette’s argument founders on the grounds that the Conference was not comprehensively ‘ecumenical’, especially when considered in the ‘modern’ sense. Neither the Conference itself, nor the development of the World Council of Churches offer sufficient justification for Latourette’s claim that Edinburgh 1910 was ‘the birthplace of the modern ecumenical movement’.

Bibliography

Bliss, Kathleen. “J. H. Oldham (1874-1969): From “Edinburgh 1910″ to the World Council of Churches.” In Mission Legacies: Biographical Studies of Leaders of the Modern Missionary Movement, edited by Gerald H. Anderson, Robert T. Coote, Norman A. Horner and James M. Phillips, xviii, 654 p. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1994.

Clements, K. W. Faith on the Frontier: A Life of J.H. Oldham. Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1999.

Dowsett, Rose. “Cooperation and the Promotion of Unity: An Evangelical Perspective.” http://www.towards2010.org.uk/downloads/t2010paper08dowsett.pdf.

Graham, Carol. “V. S. Azariah (1875-1945).” In Mission Legacies: Biographical Studies of Leaders of the Modern Missionary Movement, edited by Gerald H. Anderson, Robert T. Coote, Norman A. Horner and James M. Phillips, xviii, 654 p. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1994.

The History and Records of the Conference, Together with Addresses Delivered at the Evening Meetings., World Missionary Conference (1910). Edinburgh: Oliphant, Anderson, & Ferrier, 1910.

Hopkins, Charles Howard. John R. Mott, 1865-1955: A Biography. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979.

Kinnamon, Michael, and Brian E. Cope, eds. The Ecumenical Movement: An Anthology of Key Texts and Voices. Geneva; Grand Rapids, Mich.: WCC Publications; W.B. Eerdmans Pub., 1997.

Kobia, Samuel. “Reflections on Commission Viii and Wcc.” http://www.towards2010.org.uk/downloads/t2010paper08kobia.pdf.

Latourette, Kenneth Scott. “Ecumenical Bearings of the Missionary Movement and the International Missionary Council.” In A History of the Ecumenical Movement 1517-1948, edited by Ruth Rouse and Stephen Charles Neill, 353-73, 401-02. Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1954.

Latourette, Kenneth Scott. A History of Christianity. London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1954.

Mott, John R. The Decisive Hour of Christian Missions. London: Young People’s Missionary Movement, 1910.

Newbigin, Lesslie. The Gospel in a Pluralist Society. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 1989.

Oldham, Joseph Houldsworth. “Reflections on Edinburgh, 1910.” Religion in Life 29, no. 3 (1960): 329-38.

Report of Commission Viii: Co-Operation and the Promotion of Unity. World Missionary Conference (1910). Edinburgh: Oliphant, Anderson & Ferrier, 1910.

Robeck, Cecil M. Jr. “Cooperation and the Promotion of Unity: A Pentecostal Perspective.” http://www.towards2010.org.uk/downloads/t2010paper08robeck.pdf.

Ross, Kenneth R. “Edinburgh 1910 – Its Place in History.” http://www.towards2010.org.uk/downloads_int/1910-PlaceHistory.pdf.

Söderblom, Nathan. “Nobel Lecture.” http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1930/soderblom-lecture.html?print=1.

Stanley, Brian. “Edinburgh 1910 and the Oikoumene.” In Ecumenism and History: Studies in Honour of John H.Y. Briggs, edited by Anthony R. Cross, xxii, 362 p. Carlisle ; Waynesboro, Ga.: Paternoster Press, 2002.

Stanley, Brian. The World Missionary Conference, Edinburgh 1910, Studies in the History of Christian Missions. Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans Pub. Co., 2009.

VanElderen, Marlin, and Martin Conway. Introducing the World Council of Churches. Rev. and enl. ed, Risk Book Series No. 96. Geneva, Switzerland: WCC Publications, 2001.

Visser ‘t Hooft, W. A. “The General Ecumenical Development since 1948.” In A History of the Ecumenical Movement (Vol. 2), edited by Harold Edward Fey, 3-26. Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1986.

Visser ‘t Hooft, W. A. The Genesis and Formation of the World Council of Churches. Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1982.

Yates, T. E. Christian Mission in the Twentieth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994.

Endnotes

1. Kenneth Scott Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings of the Missionary Movement and the International Missionary Council,” in A History of the Ecumenical Movement 1517-1948, ed. Ruth Rouse and Stephen Charles Neill (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1954), 362.
2. Ibid., 357.
3. Ibid., 355-62. cf. Kenneth Scott Latourette, A History of Christianity (London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1954), 1343-44. In this latter work, published the same year, Latourette also argued that the restriction of discussion to missions to non-Christians, thus excluding missions amongst traditionally Roman Catholic areas, such as South America, led to the Foreign Missions Conference of North America and consequently the Committee on Cooperation in Latin America. This connection, however, is too tenuous to be considered causal.
4. Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings,” 353.
5. ‘Christ emphasised that the mightiest apologetic with which to convince the non-Christian world of His Divine character and claims would be the oneness of His disciples. Experience has already shown that by far the most hopeful way of hastening the realisation of true and triumphant Christian unity is through the enterprise of carrying the Gospel to the non-Christian world’ John R. Mott, The Decisive Hour of Christian Missions (London: Young People’s Missionary Movement, 1910), 277.
6. Kathleen Bliss, “J. H. Oldham (1874-1969): From “Edinburgh 1910″ to the World Council of Churches,” in Mission Legacies: Biographical Studies of Leaders of the Modern Missionary Movement, ed. Gerald H. Anderson, et al., American Society of Missiology Series (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1994), 572.
7. Brian Stanley, The World Missionary Conference, Edinburgh 1910, Studies in the History of Christian Missions (Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans Pub. Co., 2009), 10. The original intention in including the word in the official title of the New York 1900 conference was, according to New England Episcopalian William Huntington, to indicate that ‘the plan of campaign which it proposes covers the whole area of the inhabited globe’ (cited in Ibid., 18.). The Edinburgh planners felt it more likely to be understood as implying that all portions of the church would be represented by delegates. cf. Brian Stanley, “Edinburgh 1910 and the Oikoumene,” in Ecumenism and History: Studies in Honour of John H.Y. Briggs, ed. Anthony R. Cross (Carlisle ; Waynesboro, Ga.: Paternoster Press, 2002), 96.
8. Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings,” 360.
9. Cited in Stanley, World Missionary Conference, 277-8. cf. Charles Howard Hopkins, John R. Mott, 1865-1955: A Biography (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979), 346.
10. Cecil M. Jr. Robeck, “Cooperation and the Promotion of Unity: A Pentecostal Perspective,” http://www.towards2010.org.uk/downloads/t2010paper08robeck.pdf, 6. Latin America was considered Roman Catholic, and Russia Orthodox.
11. Oldham to Mott, 17th March, 1909. Cited in K. W. Clements, Faith on the Frontier: A Life of J.H. Oldham (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1999), 83. cf. T. E. Yates, Christian Mission in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 29.
12. Stanley, World Missionary Conference, 9.
13. Indeed, many wistfully spoke from the floor of a desire for Roman and Orthodox involvement, notably Bishop Brent of the Philippine Islands, and the Bishop of Southwark. Report of Commission Viii: Co-Operation and the Promotion of Unity, World Missionary Conference (1910) (Edinburgh: Oliphant, Anderson & Ferrier, 1910), 198, 201-2.
14. Latourette, A History of Christianity, 1344.
15. i.e. those churches born out of missionary activity. cf. Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings,” 359.
16. Carol Graham, “V. S. Azariah (1875-1945),” in Mission Legacies: Biographical Studies of Leaders of the Modern Missionary Movement, ed. Gerald H. Anderson, et al., American Society of Missiology Series (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1994), 327.
17. ‘[O]f the 1,216 official delegates… only 17 were from the non-western world.’ Stanley, “Oikoumene,” 90-91.
18. Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings,” 359. Indeed, V. S. Azariah’s ‘plea for friendship from the missionary churches of the West was to prove the longest-remembered address of the entire conference.’ Clements, Faith on the Frontier, 89-90. The text of Azariah’s address may be found in The History and Records of the Conference, Together with Addresses Delivered at the Evening Meetings., World Missionary Conference (1910) (Edinburgh: Oliphant, Anderson, & Ferrier, 1910), 306-15.
19. Stanley, “Oikoumene,” 91.
20. Ibid., 93.
21. ‘As Chairman, Mott recognized the few Orientals for whose presence he had labored, perhaps disproportionately.’ Hopkins, Mott, 357. cf. Clements, who relates the account of Oldham’s last minute ‘flurry of activity’ which resulted in securing the attendance of V. S. Azariah. Clements, Faith on the Frontier, 89.
22. Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings,” 353, 61.
23. Ibid., 362.
24. Ibid., 355. cf. Report of Commission Viii, 129.
25. Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings,” 356-62. cf. Latourette, A History of Christianity, 1343-5.
26. Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings,” 358.
27. Stanley, World Missionary Conference, 4.
28. Hopkins, Mott, 349.
29. cf. ‘The frequently expressed conviction that effectiveness in mission calls for unity marked the inception of the modern ecumenical movement.’ Kenneth R. Ross, “Edinburgh 1910 – Its Place in History,” http://www.towards2010.org.uk/downloads_int/1910-PlaceHistory.pdf, 7.
30. Hopkins, Mott, 336.
31. Oldham to Mott, 13th October, 1909. Cited in Ibid., 341.
32. Mott to Oldham, 21st October, 1909. Cited in Clements, Faith on the Frontier, 97.
33. Joseph Houldsworth Oldham, “Reflections on Edinburgh, 1910,” Religion in Life 29, no. 3 (1960): 335-6. cf. Hopkins, Mott, 359.
34. Others directly impacted by the Conference include William Temple (later Archbishop of Canterbury), John Baillie, Kenneth Kirk (later Bishop of Oxford and Regius Professor of Moral and Pastoral Theology at Oxford), William Manson, Neville Talbot and V. S. Azariah (to whom reference has already been made). cf. Yates, Christian Mission, 33.
35. At the time of the Edinburgh Conference, Mott was serving as General Secretary of the World Student Christian Federation; National Secretary of the Intercollegiate Young Men’s Christian Association (Y.M.C.A) of the U.S.A. and Canada; and Chairman of the Student Volunteer Movement for Foreign Missions, a body described at Edinburgh as having ‘done much to further the cause of unity’. Report of Commission Viii, 128.; cf. Hopkins, Mott, passim. Similarly, Oldham had previously been a secretary of the Student Christian Movement of Great Britain and Ireland and of the Y.M.C.A. in India. Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings,” 54.; cf. Clements, Faith on the Frontier, passim.
36. Samuel Kobia, “Reflections on Commission Viii and Wcc,” http://www.towards2010.org.uk/downloads/t2010paper08kobia.pdf, 3. cf. Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings,” 372.
37. Latourette, A History of Christianity, 1344.
38. Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings,” 360. cf. Marlin VanElderen and Martin Conway, Introducing the World Council of Churches, Rev. and enl. ed., Risk Book Series No. 96 (Geneva, Switzerland: WCC Publications, 2001), 24.; contra. Stanley, World Missionary Conference, 297. Stanley cites evidence from Brent’s diary, indicating the inspiration for the Faith and Order movement did not come until October, 1910, and attributes the mistaken association to faulty recollection on Oldham’s behalf.
39. cf. The list of official delegates in History and Records, 39-71. In his lecture delivered upon receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, Söderblom notes in passing a letter addressed from the Conference of Churches in Neutral Countries to the Edinburgh Continuation Committee, but attributes the formation of the World Conference on Life and Work to the former body rather than the latter. Nathan Söderblom, “Nobel Lecture,” http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1930/soderblom-lecture.html?print=1.
40. Rose Dowsett, “Cooperation and the Promotion of Unity: An Evangelical Perspective,” http://www.towards2010.org.uk/downloads/t2010paper08dowsett.pdf, 7. Dowsett continues: ‘this almost certainly delayed the development of the mission movement from the global south by decades, and also for a long time hindered the churches from the global south from taking responsibility for the ongoing evangelisation of their own people groups.’
41. Report of Commission Viii, 135.
42. Lesslie Newbigin, The Gospel in a Pluralist Society (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 1989), 190.
43. Mott, The Decisive Hour of Christian Missions, 191.
44. Report of Commission Viii, 7. cf. Stanley, World Missionary Conference, 278.
45. History and Records, 347.
46. W. A. Visser ‘t Hooft, “The General Ecumenical Development since 1948,” in A History of the Ecumenical Movement (Vol. 2), ed. Harold Edward Fey (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1986), 11. On the relationship of the Edinburgh Conference to these three organisations (Life and Work, Faith and Order, and the I.M.C) see above.
47. W. A. Visser ‘t Hooft, The Genesis and Formation of the World Council of Churches (Geneva: World Council of Churches, 1982), 94-97. The text of the encyclical may be found in Michael Kinnamon and Brian E. Cope, eds., The Ecumenical Movement: An Anthology of Key Texts and Voices (Geneva; Grand Rapids, Mich.: WCC Publications; W.B. Eerdmans Pub.,1997), 11-14.
48. Latourette, “Ecumenical Bearings,” 401-2.

Question

Discuss the view that Galatians 4:21-31 represents a response to the Galatian opponents.

Abstract

This study examines the proposition that Paul’s argumentation and, in particular, his choice of texts for exposition in Gal 4:21-31 are in response to similar argumentation on the part of the Galatian agitators. After examining the case put forward by C. K. Barrett and others, several difficulties in this position are noted which prompt the reconsideration of the idea that the initiative is Paul’s own. Several possibilities are critically appraised, including recent studies by Susan Elliott and Karen Jobes. As a result, a proposal is offered, building on Jobes’ work, to the effect that Paul in fact chose Isa 54:1 as his text for exposition. On this reading, the choice of the Genesis narrative was conditional upon his choice of Isaiah, and not a response to exegesis of Gen 16-17 by the Galatian opponents. Finally, this proposal is subjected to critical evaluation, with the result that it is found to be compatible with Barrett’s reconstruction, but that it also renders the latter unnecessary in understanding Gal 4:21-31.

Essay

Galatians 4:21-31 represents a significant challenge for exegetes of the New Testament. The sources of difficulty are many. In particular, modern exegetes struggle to comprehend Paul’s hermeneutical method in applying the OT narrative of Sarah and Hagar, Ishmael and Isaac to the Galatian context, or to appreciate its rhetorical and argumentative force. Further, two semantically important words in the passage – ἀλληγορούμενα (v. 24) and συστοιχεῖ (v. 25) – are hapax legomena in the NT. Indeed, confusion about this passage is not limited to the modern reader, as evidenced by the 11 textual variants exhibited in this short passage. Yet even more basic to the understanding of this passage than Paul’s hermeneutic is the reason he selected the narrative of Sarah and Hagar as the basis for his exegesis. Two main answers to this question have been put forward: (1) Paul adopts texts in use by his Galatian opponents; or (2) Paul selects this narrative of his own accord. It is the aim of this study to examine these two options.¹

In 1976 C. K. Barrett wrote an influential essay proposing that Paul’s choice of texts for exposition in Gal 3-4 was actually determined by the texts in use by the Galatian agitators.² On this reading, Paul takes up the texts presented by the opponents, and corrects their exegesis, demonstrating in the process that these same texts support his own position.³ In relation to Gal 4:21-31, Barrett argues that,

(1) This is a part of the Old Testament that Paul would have been unlikely to introduce of his own accord; its value from his point of view is anything but obvious, and the method of interpretation is unusual with him… It stands in the epistle because his opponents had used it and he could not escape it. (2) Its plain, surface meaning supports not Paul but the Judaizers: the Jews, who live by the law of Moses, are the heirs of Abraham and it is to Jews that the promise applies.⁴

In response to the argument put by the agitators, then, Paul argues that Hagar is to be identified not with Paul’s gospel to the Gentiles, but with the agitators’ nomistic teaching. Then, having turned his opponents’ arguments against them, he turns to his more positive exposition at 5:2, indicated by his words ‘Look! I Paul…’.⁵

Many have followed Barrett in this reading. Fung points out that since the manner of OT exegesis found in this passage is not characteristic of Paul, some explanation for its use here is necessary, with the implication that allegory⁶ was the only way Paul could convert the text to his own use.⁷ More plausibly, Longenecker points to the present participle ἀλληγορούμενα (4:24) and suggests that the agitators were the innovators in using allegory and Paul is simply correcting their system of tropes.⁸ He also adds that it explains the use of affirmative particle μέν (‘indeed’) in vv. 23, 24, which signals points of agreement with the opponents’ interpretation. Drane comments that this text would have been one familiar to Jewish controversialists as demonstrating the superiority of the Jewish nation to those outside the covenant.⁹

Barrett’s proposal has great merit, although some qualification is needed. For instance, Bruce argues that the customary interpretation of Gen 16-17 in rabbinical schools would have been to identify Ishmael as the ancestor of the Gentile nations, but no evidence is adduced in support of this.¹⁰ Neither is it clear how this would advance the push for circumcision, since both Isaac and Ishmael were circumcised. More attractive is the proposal that the agitator’s polemical target was Paul himself; thus Ishmael, the son who did not have the law, is identified as Paul, and the Galatian Christians are his progeny.¹¹

Yet even in its strongest form, Barrett’s hypothesis is not without problems. The most obvious is that it fails to account for why this passage is not treated before the shift of direction signalled in 4:12-20.¹² That the Hagar/Sarah narrative should be an ‘afterthought’ is hardly plausible if it was one of the key texts in the agitators’ argument;¹³ that it should occupy such a significant position, as the climax of Paul’s exegetical argument, less plausible still. Are we to believe that Paul did not bring any Scripture of his own to the debate, except in an effort to ‘commute’ his opponents’ exegesis? Even then, the strongest basis Barrett and those who follow him can suggest for Paul’s introduction of Isa 54:1 is a thematic link with the idea of barenness.¹⁴ Barrett’s conclusions, whilst possibly apt for Paul’s use of Scripture in Gal 3, seem less appropriate for Gal 4:21-31. Thus it is necessary to reexamine the possibility that the choice of the narrative of Gen 16-7 is Paul’s own initiative.

Several suggestions have been made. Bligh proposes that Paul’s speech to Peter carries through to 5:13a, and thus 4:21-31 constitutes a rhetorical flourish more appropriate to a Jewish audience than a Gentile one.¹⁵ Barrett notes this hypothesis as his point of departure, agreeing that it gives a concrete setting to the pericope and would have been an impressive conclusion to a speech.¹⁶ However, he also rightly points out that it ‘fails to carry conviction’, since Paul did not call it a speech and it fails to account for the direct address (‘O foolish Galatians…’) in 3:1. One might add that it relegates the function of this passage to being a mere adornment,¹⁷ rather than a part of the argument proper, surely insufficient cause for Paul to depart from his usual methods of exegesis in favour of allegory.¹⁸

Elliott suggests that Paul is constructing an argument targeted at the Galatians themselves, and rooted in their own context.¹⁹ Her proposal is that the Galatians would have understood Paul to mean that Mount Sinai was an incarnation of the mother of the Gods, who was often identified with a mountain overlooking the cities and villages she was held to protect and who would then be known by the name of her mountain e.g. Meter Dindymenē, Meter Sipylenē, Meter Zingotenē, Meter Kotianē etc.²⁰ This ‘Mountain Mother’ held a role in Anatolian culture as an ‘enforcer deity,’ upholding the laws of men and gods,²¹ and so would have been readily identified with the Jewish law and nomism. Further, this goddess was often served by ‘sacred slaves’ (ἱερόδουλοι), including the galli, young men who would castrate themselves during orgiastic rituals in her honour.²² Thus, according to Elliott, we see why the Galatians may have been willing to undergo the rite of circumcision (5:2) and providing context for Paul’s outburst in response (5:12). To be the slave of the Mother of the Gods would have been a real attraction, so the argument based on freedom/slavery in chapter 3 would not, of itself, have been sufficient.²³ Paul’s rhetorical purpose, then, is to show that she is herself a slave, for being the slave of a slave would not have been attractive.²⁴

Elliott’s thesis has strength in explaining some of the distinctive aspects of this passage. It eases somewhat the notorious difficulty of the otherwise bare geographical fact in v. 25 (τὸ δὲ Ἁγὰρ Σινᾶ ὄρος ἐστὶν ἐν τῇ Ἀραβίᾳ), which would thus be translated as ‘now Hagar-Sinai is a mountain [mother] in Arabia’. It explains why Sarah and ‘her’ mountain are not named, since this would make ‘our mother’ just another Mountain Mother.²⁵ It may also offer entry points for understanding Paul’s use of στοιχεῖα (4:9; cf. 4:3; 5:25; 6:16) and ‘Jerusalem above… is our mother’ (4:26). Yet Elliott’s proposal has failed to find much support among NT scholars, for a number of reasons. Elliott cites a substantial body of lithographic and textual evidence to establish the basic facts of the background, yet provides no indication of dates for that evidence. Yet even supposing that her montage accurately depicts first century Anatolia, there are numerous problems with her application to Paul’s Epistle. Whilst Elliott’s interpretation brings a measure of unity to 4:21-5:11 with a sustained focus on the broader Anatolian context, it fails to find much basis in the rest of the Galatian Epistle. It also presupposes that Paul²⁶ had sufficient knowledge of Anatolian culture to construct this elaborate allegory to refute it, and that he should be willing to do so under the guise of ‘exegeting’ OT Scripture. Finally, the association of the Mountain Mother with law (and hence nomism) seems too tenuous to bear the weight Elliott gives to it, and it is by no means clear that the Galatians would have equated castration with circumcision. Thus Elliott’s proposal fails, and must be rejected as having insufficient textual basis.

The most persuasive explanation for Paul’s use of the OT in this passage has been offered in an important study by Karen Jobes.²⁷ Building on work by Hays, she approaches the issue by considering the ‘intertextual space’ set up by Paul’s three uses of Scripture in this passage.²⁸ Of particular interest is the quotation of Isa 54:1 in 4:27 which ‘metaleptically evokes the whole rippling pool of promise found in the latter chapters of that prophetic book’.²⁹ Thus, Isaiah speaks of barrenness (49:21; 54:1), inheritance (14:21; 49:8; 57:13; 58:14), seed (6:13; 59:21), the Holy Spirit (11:12; 28:6; 30:1; 32:15; 34:16; 42:1; 44:3; 48:16; 59:21; 61:1; 63:10, 14) and Jerusalem (passim, but particularly 51:17). Indeed, Isa 51:2 is the only reference to Sarah in the OT outside of the Genesis narrative. But this correspondence is more than just verbal – Isaiah ‘provides a canonical basis for at least three points with which Paul later resonates':³⁰ (1) Sarah is the mother, not just of Israel, but of those ‘who pursue righteousness and who seek the LORD’ (Isa 51:1-2); (2) the images of matriarchal barrenness and female personification of capital cities are conjoined to produce two Jerusalems, one barren and cursing, the other rejoicing; and (3) a barren Jerusalem miraculously gives birth as demonstration of God’s power to deliver a nation of people from death (Isa 54). Thus, in Jobes’ words, ‘Paul’s argument in Gal 4:21-31 resonates, not with the Genesis narrative, but with Isaiah’s transformation of its themes of seed and inheritance’.³¹

Jobes’ argument shows great strength, in that it explains Paul’s juxtaposition of the texts from Genesis and Isaiah. This is made more plausible still when considered in the light of Di Mattei’s observation that synagogue reading practices sought to eschatologize the Torah by reading Genesis through its haftarah, or interpretation in the prophets.³² Thus Paul’s allegorical use of the Genesis narrative mimics how Paul may have conceived Isaiah using it.³³ Jobes is also successful in explaining why Paul names only Hagar and not Sarah, since this preserves sufficient ambiguity to allow the Isaianic identifications to prevail. Jobes accounts for the unusual nexus of ideas in this passage – Sarah, Jerusalem, the Holy Spirit – as well as certain parallels between the two texts (e.g. Isa 53:1 // Gal 3:2; Isa 53:2-12 // Gal 3:1; Isa 54:1 // 4:27). In short, Jobes provides a concrete explanation for Paul’s otherwise arbitrary allegorical method, and demonstrates that it is an integral part of Paul’s argument.³⁴

The most substantial objection to Jobes’ position is one that she notes herself: would the Galatians have been sufficiently versed in Isaiah to understand the nuances of Paul’s argument?³⁵ Would the Galatians even have known which slave girl and which free woman Paul was referring to? Evidently, if this was part of the teaching of the opponents then they would, but is Jobes’ reading necessarily dependent upon Barrett’s? In response, Jobes conjectures that Paul is reminding the Galatians of what he taught them during his initial visit, a solution not without problems of its own. Apart from the obvious fact that Paul is not generally shy about signalling such reminders (cf. Rom 15:15; 1 Cor 15:1; 2 Tim 1:6), one may well ask, ‘If Paul has already taught them on this subject, why are they taken in by the agitators’ teaching? What makes him think simple reiteration will prevent it from happening again?’ A more likely possibility is that Paul gave such fuller instruction to the emissary with whom he sent the Galatian Epistle. In either case, it is not at all implausible that Paul’s original proclamation included teaching from Isaiah, particularly when we consider that right in between the text Paul quotes (Isa 54:1) and one of the texts Jobes sees being metaleptically invoked (Isa 51) lies Isaiah’s prophecy concerning the Suffering Servant (Isa 52:13-53:13), a text very relevant in explaining how the Messiah came to die on a Roman cross.³⁶ And Paul includes numerous quotations from these chapters in his own writings (Rom 2:24; 10:15, 16; 15:21; 1 Cor 2:9; 2 Cor 6:17; Gal 4:27; cf. Acts 13:34, 47). The quotations in his Epistle to the Romans – a church he had never visited, and thus to whom he was proclaiming the gospel for the first time – are particularly significant in suggesting that Isa 51-54 formed a key component of Paul’s kerygma.

Thus, Jobes makes a good case for metalepsis as the reason for Paul’s selection of Isa 54:1 as a text through which to interpret the Genesis narrative. But is it sufficient cause for the selection of the Genesis text in the first place? In other words, is Barrett’s reconstruction of Paul responding to opposing exegesis still necessary in explaining Gal 4:21-31? Certainly, the two readings are compatible – the opponents selected Gen 16-17 (Barrett) and Paul selected Isa 54:1 in order to correct their exegesis (Jobes) – and this renders a thoroughly consistent overall picture. But Barrett’s proposal was made in response to a number of perceived problems within Gal 4:21-31, and these same problems are independently solved by Jobes, rendering Barrett’s hypothesis unnecessary. Thus, where Barrett found that the Genesis narrative was selected by the opponents, Jobes opens up the possibility that Paul selected the Isaiah text first and then summarised the Genesis background accordingly. Both provide explanations for describing Jerusalem as ‘our mother’ (4:26) and Jobes provides the stronger explanation for Paul’s allegorical method. The weakness of Jobes’ reading (the necessity of familiarity with Isaiah) is inherent in Barrett’s as well, otherwise the Galatians will not understand Paul’s response. Perhaps the only area where Barrett’s hypothesis provides a stronger reading is in Longenecker’s point that Paul uses μέν to signal points of agreement with the opposing exegesis, but other explanations have been offered for this as well.³⁷

In summary, then, whilst Barrett’s argument that in Gal 4:21-31 Paul is responding to and correcting exegesis of Gen 16-17 offered by the opponents is possible, it is rendered unnecessary if Jobes’ explanation is accepted. The selection of Isa 54:1 was clearly Paul’s (on either reading), and was motivated by metaleptic invocation of a nexus of themes integral to his argument, and thus apt for serving as a conclusion to his proof from Scripture and a sound basis for transitioning to paraenesis in 5:1ff. His method is therefore calculated rather than arbitrary, and is part of Paul’s positive argument from Scripture rather than an apologetic response to the exegesis of the Galatian agitators.

Bibliography

Barrett, C. K. Essays on Paul Westminster Pr, 1982.

Bligh, John. Galatians: A Discussion of St. Paul’s Epistle, Householder Commentaries. London: St. Paul Publications, 1969.

Boer, Martinus C. de. “Paul’s Quotation of Isaiah 54.1 in Galatians 4.27.” New Testament Studies 50, no. 3 (2004): 370-89.

Bruce, F. F. The Epistle to the Galatians: A Commentary on the Greek Text. Accordance electronic ed, New Internation Greek Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982.

Caneday, A. B. “Covenant Lineage Allegorically Prefigured: “Which Things Are Written Allegorically” (Galatians 4:21-31).” Southern Baptist Journal of Theology 14, no. 3 (2010): 50-77.

Dahl, Nils A. “Paul’s Letter to the Galatians: Epistolary Genre, Content, and Structure.” In The Galatians Debate: Contemporary Issues in Rhetorical and Historical Interpretation, edited by Mark D. Nanos, 117-42. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 2002.

Davis, Anne. “Allegorically Speaking in Galatians 4:21-5:1.” Bulletin for Biblical Research 14, no. 2 (2004): 161-74.

Di Mattei, Steven. “Paul’s Allegory of the Two Covenants (Gal 4.21-31) in Light of First-Century Hellenistic Rhetoric and Jewish Hermeneutics.” New Testament Studies 52, no. 1 (2006): 102-22.

Drane, John W. Paul: Libertine or Legalist. London: SPCK, 1975.

Elliott, Susan M. “Choose Your Mother, Choose Your Master: Galatians 4:21-5:1 in the Shadow of the Anatolian Mother of the Gods.” Journal of Biblical Literature 118, no. 4 (1999): 661-83.

Fee, Gordon D. Galatians: Pentecostal Commentary. Blandford Forum: Deo Publishing, 2007.

Fung, Ronald Y. K. The Epistle to the Galatians, The New International Commentary on the New Testament. Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1988.

Hansen, G. Walter. Abraham in Galatians: Epistolary and Rhetorical Contexts. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989.

Jobes, Karen H. “Jerusalem, Our Mother: Metalepsis and Intertextuality in Galatians 4:21-31.” Westminster Theological Journal 55, no. 2 (1993): 299-320.

Longenecker, Richard N. Galatians. Accordance/Thomas Nelson electronic ed, Word Biblical Commentary. Waco: Word Books, 1990.

Luther, Martin. A Commentary on St. Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians: Based on Lectures Delivered at the University of Wittenberg in the Year 1531 and First Published in 1535. London: James Clarke & Co, 1953.

Martyn, J. Louis. Galatians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary. 1st ed, The Anchor Bible. New York: Doubleday, 1997.

Silva, Moisés. Interpreting Galatians: Explorations in Exegetical Method. 2nd ed. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2001.

Stott, John R. W. The Message of Galatians. Accordance electronic ed, The Bible Speaks Today. Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1984.

Tamez, Elsa. “Hagar and Sarah in Galatians: A Case Study in Freedom.” Word & World 20, no. 3 (2000): 265-71.

Endnotes

1. There are 3 OT texts in view in this passage: (1) Gen 16-17, which Paul summarises in vv. 21-23 rather than quoting; (2) Isa 54.1, which is cited in v. 27; and (3) Gen 21:10, cited in v. 30. (3) Is clearly dependent upon the choice of (1), and that (2) is Paul’s own choice, being of no service to the agitators, would scarcely be contested by the majority of interpreters – so, for example, J. Louis Martyn, Galatians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed., The Anchor Bible (New York: Doubleday, 1997), 441. Thus, the focus of this study is on the selection of the Genesis narrative as exegetical battleground.
2. C. K. Barrett, Essays on Paul (Westminster Pr, 1982), 154-68. This essay was originally published as “Allegory of Abraham, Sarah, and Hagar in the Argument of Galatians,” in Rechtfertigung (Tübingen: J C B Mohr, 1976).
3. Ibid., 158ff.
4. Ibid., 162.
5. Ibid., 165.
6. Much controversy attaches to the translation of ἀλληγορούμενα in Gal 4:24. The points of contention are twofold: (1) should it be translated ‘is written allegorically’ or ‘is interpreted allegorically’?; and (2) is it more accurate to describe Paul’s method as ‘typological’ rather than ‘allegorical’? For recent studies on these issues, see Anne Davis, “Allegorically Speaking in Galatians 4:21-5:1,” Bulletin for Biblical Research 14, no. 2 (2004). and A. B. Caneday, “Covenant Lineage Allegorically Prefigured: “Which Things Are Written Allegorically” (Galatians 4:21-31),” Southern Baptist Journal of Theology 14, no. 3 (2010). The findings of this study are not dependent on answers to either of these questions, although the findings of the study may be relevant to answering (1). Thus both questions may be left open; in particular, the traditional translations ‘allegory’ and ‘allegorical’ will be used in a non-technical sense that also encompasses ‘typology’ and ‘typological’. Overall, the important thing to remember is that, as Stott puts it, Paul’s method ‘is allegorical, although not arbitrary.’ John R. W. Stott, The Message of Galatians, Accordance electronic ed., The Bible Speaks Today (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1984), 121.
7. Ronald Y. K. Fung, The Epistle to the Galatians, The New International Commentary on the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1988), 219.
8. Richard N. Longenecker, Galatians, Accordance/Thomas Nelson electronic ed., Word Biblical Commentary (Waco: Word Books, 1990), 210.
9. John W. Drane, Paul: Libertine or Legalist (London: SPCK, 1975), 39.
10. F. F. Bruce, The Epistle to the Galatians: A Commentary on the Greek Text, Accordance electronic ed., New International Greek Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 218-9. cf. Longenecker, who says, ‘When one looks into the rabbinic traditions for a similar contemporization of the Hagar-Sarah story in which the interpreter’s opponents are identified with Hagar and Ishmael and so denounced or marginalized, one finds the potential but not the reality—that is, one finds all the elements being present, but not, with only rare and generally late exceptions, being brought together for polemical purposes.’ Longenecker, Galatians, 205.
11. Ibid., 199-200, 07-8, 18.
12. Barrett’s own explanation, that Paul is catering for a Gentile audience and supplying real world examples more familiar to them, misses the different character of argumentation from 4:12 (Barrett, Essays on Paul, 160-1.). Various theories have been suggested for this ‘interruption’ in the flow of Paul’s argument. Notably, Dahl uses epistolary analysis and concludes that 4:12 marks a transition from ‘rebuke’ to ‘request’ (Nils A. Dahl, “Paul’s Letter to the Galatians: Epistolary Genre, Content, and Structure,” in The Galatians Debate: Contemporary Issues in Rhetorical and Historical Interpretation, ed. Mark D. Nanos (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 2002), 134.). Similarly, Hansen arrives at a compatible conclusion using rhetorical analysis, arguing for a shift from forensic to deliberative rhetoric at 4:12. His conclusion is that ‘The unity of 3.1-4.11 as a section on its own makes it difficult to see how 4.21-31 is related structurally to that section.’ (G. Walter Hansen, Abraham in Galatians: Epistolary and Rhetorical Contexts (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1989), 143.)
13. Caneday, “Covenant Lineage,” 56.
14. Bruce, Galatians, 222. and Martinus C. de Boer, “Paul’s Quotation of Isaiah 54.1 in Galatians 4.27,” New Testament Studies 50, no. 3 (2004): 379.
15. John Bligh, Galatians: A Discussion of St. Paul’s Epistle, Householder Commentaries (London: St. Paul Publications, 1969), 235-6.
16. Barrett, Essays on Paul, 158.
17. cf. ‘For as painting is an ornament to set forth and garnish an house already builded, so is an allegory the light of a matter which is already otherwise proved and confirmed.’ Martin Luther, A Commentary on St.Paul’s Epistle to the Galatians: Based on Lectures Delivered at the University of Wittenberg in the Year 1531 and First Published in 1535 (London: James Clarke & Co, 1953), 417.
18. cf. Elsa Tamez, “Hagar and Sarah in Galatians : A Case Study in Freedom,” Word & World 20, no. 3 (2000): 269. Tamez argues that Paul’s purpose in choosing this constellation of texts (Gen 16-17; 21:10; Isa 54.1) is to demonstrate God’s preference for excluded ones. This is not implausible, but is probably not sufficient cause to explain the distinctives of this passage. Nevertheless, it is compatible with other explanations, and is worth bearing in mind as a secondary purpose.
19. Susan M. Elliott, “Choose Your Mother, Choose Your Master: Galatians 4:21-5:1 in the Shadow of the Anatolian Mother of the Gods,” Journal of Biblical Literature 118, no. 4 (1999).
20. Ibid., 672.
21. Ibid., 674-5.
22. Ibid., 675.
23. Ibid., 680.
24. Ibid., 681.
25. Ibid., 682.
26. Or one of his associates, perhaps whoever brought news of the Galatian situation in the first place. Yet no associate is mentioned in the epistolary greeting.
27. Karen H. Jobes, “Jerusalem, Our Mother: Metalepsis and Intertextuality in Galatians 4:21-31,” Westminster Theological Journal 55, no. 2 (1993).
28. Ibid., 305.
29. Hays, quoted in Ibid.
30. Ibid., 309.
31. Ibid., 310.
32. Steven Di Mattei, “Paul’s Allegory of the Two Covenants (Gal 4.21-31) in Light of First-Century Hellenistic Rhetoric and Jewish Hermeneutics,” New Testament Studies 52, no. 1 (2006): 102.
33. Ibid., 119. This, of course, does not solve the problem of what warrants allegorical interpretation of the Genesis narrative in the first place, merely shifts the initiative from Paul to Isaiah. ‘Yet one does not usually hear complaints that the OT prophets are guilty of using allegorical exegesis; nor is it common to argue that, in their view, Scripture contained a sensus plenior (“fuller meaning”). We simply recognize that the prophets knew how to exploit their literary tradition.’ Moisés Silva, Interpreting Galatians: Explorations in Exegetical Method, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Academic, 2001), 164.
34. Contra Gordon D. Fee, Galatians: Pentecostal Commentary (Blandford Forum: Deo Publishing, 2007), 197. Fee writes ‘[T]he most striking thing about the paragraph [sc. Gal 4:24-27] is how unnecessary it is to the present passage itself… [O]ne could very easily go from v. 23 to v. 28 without missing a beat, which suggests that nothing in this brief “interpretive” moment is actually crucial to Paul’s point.’
35. Jobes, “Jerusalem, Our Mother,” 318.
36. Indeed, we have at least one account of a God-fearing Gentile reading from this prophecy (Acts 8:32).
37. Longenecker, Galatians, 208. cf. Di Mattei, who argues that it is part of a μέν… δέ construction, for which the ‘other’ apparently never eventuates, thus creating tension and provoking thought. Di Mattei, “Paul’s Allegory,” 109.

Question

In Part I of The Cost of Discipleship Dietrich Bonhoeffer contrasts cheap and costly grace. Discuss how the context of the Lutheran Church of his day influenced his teaching on cheap and costly grace.

Abstract

This paper argues that Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s teaching on ‘costly grace’ in The Cost of Discipleship was directly influenced by the the context of the Lutheran Church of his day. In particular, the failure of the Bethel Confession of 1933 disillusioned Bonhoeffer with respect to the Confessing Church, causing him to reject an institutional approach to reforming the Church in favour of an individualistic one. His appointment as director of the Zingst/Finkenwalde seminary in 1935 both reflected this attitude and gave it an outlet. As a result, Bonhoeffer taught ‘cheap grace’ as an institutional problem and individual discipleship founded upon ‘costly grace’ as its solution.

Essay

The political turning point on 30 January 1933 [sc. the ascension of Adolf Hitler to the German Chancellorship] would force Bonhoeffer’s life onto a different course.¹

So wrote Eberhard Bethge, friend, confidante and (later) nephew by marriage to Dietrich Bonhoeffer in his monumental biography. A scant two days after Hitler’s investiture, Bonhoeffer participated in a radio broadcast on “The Younger Generations Altered View of the Concept of Führer” in which he offered criticism of the newly instated leader and the foundations of his leadership.² Yet whilst he was concerned about developments on the national political stage, it was the invasion of the church by the Reich that drew his ire; he wrote a paper and a pamphlet on the church’s response to the Aryan clause during this year.³ Thus, whilst his life was irrevocably redirected by the events of 1933, his theology instead grew more focused; as Hanfried Müller noted, Bonhoeffer became from this time a theologian ‘who labors for the church not so much to interpret it, but to try aggressively to change it.’⁴

This new activism on behalf of the church certainly resonates in Bonhoeffer’s teaching on ‘costly grace’ in his most famous and enduring work, The Cost of Discipleship. Whilst not published until 1937, Bethge tells us that this book finds its genesis much earlier, and was given its razor edge by the events of 1933.⁵ The insight of the one Bonhoeffer would later call his ‘pastor’⁶ and who was present as Bonhoeffer put the finishing touches on Discipleship, is not to be ignored.⁷ But is this sharp focus reflected in Bonhoeffer’s teaching on ‘cheap grace’ and ‘costly grace’?

The opening line of the first chapter reads: ‘Cheap grace is the deadly enemy of our Church. We are fighting to-day for costly grace.’⁸ Bonhoeffer explicitly connects cheap grace with the Lutheran church, saying, ‘We Lutherans have gathered like eagles round the carcase of cheap grace’.⁹ The result, he says, is ‘the collapse of the organized Church’ as an ‘inevitable consequence’ of cheap grace.¹⁰ Most stinging of all: ‘We confess that, although our Church is orthodox as far as her doctrine of grace is concerned, we are no longer sure that we are members of a Church which follows its Lord.’¹¹ Thus, in Bonhoeffer’s eyes, cheap grace was endemic to the Lutheran church of his day.

Two things are surprising about Bonhoeffer’s teaching here. Firstly, he nowhere distinguishes between the Confessing and Reich churches. This might, perhaps, be attributed to a discretion required in order for Bonhoeffer to continue his ministry; but this didn’t seem to influence his other writings. More likely, it reflects a measure of disappointment with the witness of the Confessing Church.¹² In any case, his message is for Confessing Christians and German Christians alike.

The second surprising feature of his teaching is that, having identified cheap grace as a church-wide problem, his remedies are predominantly directed toward individuals. He defines ‘costly grace’ in singular terms: ‘The only man who has the right to say that he is justified by grace alone is the man who has left all to follow Christ.’ His call is to ‘personal obedience’¹³ and ‘personal communion’.¹⁴ Bonhoeffer defines Christ’s mediatorship at an individual level: ‘We cannot establish direct contact outside ourselves except through him, through his word, and through our following of him’.¹⁵ Indeed, the choice of title for his book, Nachfolge,¹⁶ and the selection of the Sermon on the Mount as the key text for exposition, both speak to Bonhoeffer’s focus on the individual. If he was indeed labouring ‘aggressively to try to change’ the church,¹⁷ his strategy was to do so one disciple at a time.

Two reasons may be offered for this strategy. The first also finds its roots in 1933, with the failure of the Bethel Confession. Bonhoeffer and others gathered in Bethel in August, 1933 and, between the 15th and 25th, worked hard to draft a confession that would clearly highlight the differences between the Confessing Church and the German Christians. He was intensely disappointed when the experts consulted to review the document watered it down to a point where he was no longer willing to sign it.¹⁸ Whilst the later Barmen¹⁹ and Dahlem²⁰ declarations were more successful, it seems that Bethel left a bitter taste in Bonhoeffer’s mouth, making him consider a grass-roots approach essential in combatting the Reich’s influence on the church.

This leads to the second reason for Bonhoeffer’s individualistic approach in Discipleship; for, in the summer of 1935, Bonhoeffer became the founding director of an illegal seminary in Zingst (later moved to Finkenwalde), a position he held until its closure in September 1937.²¹ In this capacity, he was responsible for the training of ordinands for the confessing churches, and his thoughts were inevitably drawn to the discipleship of individuals. It was the closure of Finkenwalde which afforded Bonhoeffer the opportunity to complete Discipleship, as well as Life Together and The Prayerbook of the Bible, three books which ‘take us to the heart of the theological and practical preparation that Bonhoeffer gave to the five sets of ordinands who went through the six-month-long course’.²² As Bethge put it, ‘The Cost of Discipleship was to become Finkenwalde’s own badge of distinction.’²³ Shortly after its publication, Bonhoeffer wrote to his former students that he had

dedicated it in spirit to you all. I would have done so on the title page had I not feared to lay the responsibility for my theology and my ideas on your shoulders… In any case you all know what’s in it.²⁴

Thus it is not altogether surprising that the tone of Discipleship should largely be personal, directed to students facing persecution and arrest.

In conclusion, as a result of the events of 1933, and in particular the failure of the Bethel Confession, Bonhoeffer was disillusioned with the efficacy of an institutional approach to church reform. His appointment to the directorship of the Finkenwalde seminary served to redirect (or perhaps itself reflected a pre-existing redirection) toward influencing individuals. This is not to say that Bonhoeffer had abandoned ecclesiology, nor that he refused to address the corporate church.²⁵ Rather, this paper has suggested that he sought to implement his ecclesiology by first influencing individuals to follow Christ; he sought to solve the problems of the church by calling the individuals who made up the church to a radical and costly grace.

Bibliography

Bethge, Eberhard. Dietrich Bonhoeffer: A Biography. Edited by Victoria Barnett. Rev. ed. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000.
———. Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Theologian, Christian, Contemporary. Translated by Eric Mosbacher, Peter and Betty Ross and Frank Clarke. Edited by Edwin Robertson. London: Collins, 1970.
Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. Letters and Papers from Prison. Edited by Eberhard Bethge. Enlarged ed. London: The Folio Society, 2000.
———. The Cost of Discipleship. 1st Touchstone ed. New York: Touchstone, 1995.
Currie, James S. “Christianity and Marxism: A Historical Perspective on the Role of Ideology in the Thought of Hanfried Müller.” PhD, Rice, 1997.
Metaxas, Eric. Bonhoeffer : Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy : A Righteous Gentile Vs. The Third Reich. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2010.
Plant, Stephen. Bonhoeffer. London: Continuum, 2004.
Robertson, Edwin Hanton. The Persistent Voice of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Bath: Eagle Publishing, 2005.
Willmer, Haddon. “Costly Discipleship.” In The Cambridge Companion to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, edited by John W. De Gruchy, 179-89. Cambridge ; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999.

Endnotes

1. Eberhard Bethge, Dietrich Bonhoeffer: A Biography, ed. Victoria Barnett, Rev. ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000), 258.
2. Radio Broadcast,1 February, 1933. The broadcast was interrupted before Bonhoeffer finished talking, meaning that his stinging conclusion was lost, leaving Bonhoeffer in consternation the “he might actually be suspected of joining in the general acclaim. He therefore had the script duplicated and sent to his friends and relations with the explanation that he had been cut off, which “had distorted the greater picture.”‘ Ibid., 260.
3. “The Church and the Jewish Question” in the June issue of Vormarsch; and “The Aryan Clause in the Church”. The latter resulted in Bonhoeffer being excluded from representing the German church in London. Eric Metaxas, Bonhoeffer : Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy : A Righteous Gentile Vs. The Third Reich (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2010), 186.
4. Cited in James S. Currie, “Christianity and Marxism: A Historical Perspective on the Role of Ideology in the Thought of Hanfried Müller” (PhD, Rice, 1997), 112.
5. ‘Both the theme and the underlying thesis of The Cost of Discipleship were already fully evolved before 1933, but it is to that year that the book owes its single-minded concentration.’ Eberhard Bethge, Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Theologian, Christian, Contemporary, ed. Edwin Robertson, trans. Eric Mosbacher, Peter and Betty Ross, and Frank Clarke (London: Collins, 1970), 375.
6. Letter to Bethge, 18 November, 1943. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison, ed. Eberhard Bethge, Enlarged ed. (London: The Folio Society, 2000), 115.
7. Edwin Hanton Robertson, The Persistent Voice of Dietrich Bonhoeffer (Bath: Eagle Publishing, 2005), 138. Bethge was also present with Bonhoeffer at Klein-Kössin (estate of Ruth von Kleist-Retzow, grandmother to Bonhoeffer’s future fiancée) as the latter put the finishing touches on Discipleship at Easter, 1937.
8. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship, 1st Touchstone ed. (New York: Touchstone, 1995), 43.
9. Ibid., 53.
10. Ibid., 54.
11. Ibid., 55.
12. See comments on the Bethel Confession below.
13. Ibid., 59.
14. Ibid., 122.
15. Ibid., 96.
16. Commonly translated as ‘following’ or ‘emulation’. It is only in a Christian context that it can be translated ‘discipleship’.
17. Hanfried Müller, cited in Currie, “Christianity and Marxism”, 112.
18. Bethge, Dietrich Bonhoeffer: A Biography, 302-3.
19. 29-31 May, 1934.
20. 20 October, 1934.
21. Robertson, Persistent Voice, 132-3.
22. Haddon Willmer, “Costly Discipleship,” in The Cambridge Companion to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, ed. John W. De Gruchy (Cambridge ; New York: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 173.
23. Bethge, Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Theologian, Christian, Contemporary, 369.
24. Cited in Stephen Plant, Bonhoeffer (London: Continuum, 2004), 97.
25. Indeed, he published an important paper in the June 1936 urging to church to be clear in defining its boundaries. Bethge, Dietrich Bonhoeffer: A Biography, 517-31.

A comparison of 1 Corinthians 15:29 with 2 Maccabees 12:44

Many scholars have posited a Greco-Roman influence upon the Corinthian practice of vicarious¹ baptism for the dead (1 Cor 15:29).² Fewer have investigated the possibility of a Jewish origin for such a practice. This paper seeks partially to redress that imbalance by investigating the apparent parallel between the Corinthian practice and that described in 2 Maccabees 12:44 of offering prayers and sacrifices for the dead.³

2 Maccabees⁴ is an abridgement of a larger history by a man named Jason of Cyrene.⁵ It covers the events of the Maccabean revolt from the priesthood of Onias III (180 B. C. E.) until the defeat of Nicanor (161 B. C. E.) and focuses on the life of Judah Maccabee.⁶ The specific incident of interest comes in the aftermath of a battle, when Judah and his companions discover idols on the bodies of the Jewish dead (12:40-45). Judah’s response is to praise God for revealing their sin (12:41), pray that God might not remember the sin of the slain (12:42), and take up a collection of money to send to Jerusalem as a sin offering (12:43). In doing these things, the author says,⁷ Judah clearly demonstrated that he believed in the resurrection of the dead, ‘for if he had not hoped that they that were slain should have risen again, it had been superfluous and vain to pray for the dead [ὑπὲρ νεκρῶν εὔχεσθαι]… he made a reconciliation for the dead, that they might be delivered from sin’ (12:44, 5).

This passage, then, is clearly of interest when trying to understand 1 Cor 15:29, for in it we see a similar confluence of vicarious action on behalf of the dead and argument for a resurrection.⁸ But many important questions must be answered before any link between the two can be established.

Would Paul and/or the Corinthians have been aware of this text?

Scholars are generally in agreement that 2 Maccabees was composed some time in the last 150 years before Christ, probably in Alexandria.⁹ Paul’s first epistle to the Corinthians, on the other hand, must be dated some time after Gallio’s proconsulship (either 50-51 or 51-52 C. E.) for Paul was brought before Gallio during his stay in Corinth (Acts 18:12).¹⁰ Thus at least half a century had elapsed between the composition of 2 Maccabees and 1 Corinthians, allowing time for transmission from Alexandria to both Jerusalem and Corinth. The likelihood of transmission is increased by the fact that there was a significant trade between Alexandria and Corinth.¹¹ Indeed, at least one Alexandrian had some prominence in Corinth (Acts 18:24; 19:1). Paul himself may well have studied 2 Maccabees as part of his rabbinic studies under Gamaliel, since 2 Macc 7:9 is one of the principal texts underpinning the Pharisaic doctrine of the resurrection,¹² one of the hottest theological issues of his day (e.g. Matt 22:23-33; Acts 4:2; 23:6-8 etc.).¹³ Thus it is reasonable to conclude that both Paul and the Corinthians would have been aware of 2 Maccabees.

Are the two texts genuinely similar?

At a macroscopic level the two texts are quite different, being of different genres (Hellenistic historiography vs. epistle) and having different audiences (a general and implicit audience vs. the explicit audience of the community in Corinth). But what of the microscopic level? Let us consider 2 Macc 12:44 and 1 Cor 15:29 side by side.¹⁴

2 Macc 12:44	1 Cor 15:29
εἰ μὴ γὰρ τοὺς προπεπτωκότας ἀναστῆναι προσεδόκα, περισσὸν καὶ ληρῶδες ὑπὲρ νεκρῶν εὔχεσθαι·	Ἐπεὶ τί ποιήσουσιν οἱ βαπτιζόμενοι ὑπὲρ τῶν νεκρῶν; εἰ ὅλως νεκροὶ οὐκ ἐγείρονται, τί καὶ βαπτίζονται ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν;
For if he had not hoped that they that were slain should have risen again, it had been superfluous and vain to pray for the dead.	Then what will the ones baptising on behalf of the dead do? If the dead are not raised at all, why are they being baptised on behalf of the dead?

The most striking parallel is the usage of the phrase ὑπὲρ [τῶν] νεκρῶν. Whilst the Apostle’s meaning in using this phrase is unclear, the meaning in 2 Macc is indisputable: the prayer was that ‘the sin committed might wholly be put out of [God’s] remembrance’ (12:42) so that the dead might participate in the resurrection.¹⁵ Thus we see a vicarious action on behalf of those who were dead which, it is hoped, will bring about their reconciliation to God.

There are two main differences between these two passages which represent difficulties in linking 2 Macc 12:44 and 1 Cor 15:29. The first is the actual action being undertaken (prayer and sacrifice vs. baptism) and the second the direction of the authors’ arguments. The first is not insuperable, for the Corinthians clearly held a high view of baptism (1 Cor 1:14-17; 10:1-5);¹⁶ this, combined with a Greco-Roman respect for ritual and tradition,¹⁷ may well have led the Corinthians to think of baptism in the same instrumental terms as the Jews used for prayer and sacrifice. The second difference is more complicated. Paul refers to baptism for the dead in the middle of a sustained argument aimed at refuting the belief that there is no bodily resurrection of the dead (1 Cor 15:12). The Maccabean author, on the other hand, presupposes the resurrection. His argument is intended to cast Judah Maccabee in a favourable light, perhaps thus appropriating him as a proto-Pharisee. Nevertheless, whilst Paul’s purpose is very different, he is not averse to appropriating such texts for his own purposes.¹⁸ The passing nature of his comment and the apparent difficulties of reconciling vicarious baptism with his theology of baptism elsewhere suggest that his argument is ad hominem. If he was consciously referring to 2 Maccabees, he was most likely reminding the Corinthians of the ‘moral’ or ‘punch-line’ of the story.¹⁹

Thus, at the microscopic level, 2 Macc 12:44 and 1 Cor 15:29 are similar in language but differ in rhetorical purpose. The vicarious action in question is different, and the point drawn from it is tangential in 2 Macc 12 but closely related to the overall argument in 1 Cor 15.

In conclusion, the value of 2 Macc 12:44 in understanding 1 Cor 15:29 is that it provides evidence that at least some Jews in Paul’s time held beliefs that may render baptism for the dead an intelligible process.²⁰ It provides a clearly defined meaning in a Jewish context for the phrase ὑπὲρ [τῶν] νεκρῶν, a phrase that Paul uses. The Apostle’s brief response is to draw the implications of the practice to their logical conclusion – perhaps echoing the Maccabean author – that vicarious action on behalf of the dead makes no sense if there is no resurrection.

Works cited

Bartlett, John R. The First and Second Books of the Maccabees, The Cambridge Bible Commentary: New English Bible. Cambridge [Eng.]: University Press, 1973.

Brenton, Lancelot Charles Lee. The Septuagint Version of the Old Testament and Apocrypha. With an English Translation and with Various Readings and Critical Notes. Grand Rapids,: Zondervan Pub. House, 1972.

DeMaris, Richard E. “Corinthian Religion and Baptism for the Dead (1 Corinthians 15:29) : Insights from Archaeology and Anthropology.” Journal of Biblical Literature 114, no. 4 (1995): 661-82.

Doran, Robert. Temple Propaganda : The Purpose and Character of 2 Maccabees, Catholic Biblical Quarterly. Monograph Series 12. Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1981.

Fee, Gordon D. The First Epistle to the Corinthians, The New International Commentary on the New Testament. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub. Co., 1987.

Hays, Richard B. First Corinthians, Interpretation, a Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching. Louisville, Ky.: John Knox Press, 1997.

Herms, Ronald. “‘Being Saved without Honor': A Conceptual Link between 1 Corinthians 3 and 1 Enoch 50?” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 29, no. 2 (2006): 187-210.

Horsley, Richard A. “Gnosis in Corinth : 1 Corinthians 8:1-6.” New Testament Studies 27, no. 1 (1980): 32-51.

Mearns, Christopher L. “Early Eschatological Development in Paul : The Evidence of 1 Corinthians.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament no. 22 (1984): 19-35.

Meijer, Fik. A History of Seafaring in the Classical World. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1986.

Stauffer, Ethelbert. New Testament Theology. London,: SCM Press, 1955.

Thiselton, Anthony C. The First Epistle to the Corinthians : A Commentary on the Greek Text, The New International Greek Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 2000.

White, Joel R. “”Baptized on Account of the Dead” : The Meaning of 1 Corinthians 15:29 in Its Context.” Journal of Biblical Literature 116, no. 3 (1997): 487-99.

Witherington, Ben. Conflict and Community in Corinth : A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 1995.

Endnotes

1. This paper presupposes a Corinthian belief in the efficacy of being vicariously baptised for those who have died. Whilst certainly not the only view, this is nevertheless the majority view amongst scholars. For an enumeration of some of the other options, please see the other paper in this series. Helpful summaries may also be found in Anthony C. Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians : A Commentary on the Greek Text, The New International Greek Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 2000), 1242-49. and Joel R. White, “”Baptized on Account of the Dead” : The Meaning of 1 Corinthians 15:29 in Its Context,” Journal of Biblical Literature 116, no. 3 (1997).
2. Notable examples include Richard E. DeMaris, “Corinthian Religion and Baptism for the Dead (1 Corinthians 15:29) : Insights from Archaeology and Anthropology,” Journal of Biblical Literature 114, no. 4 (1995): 663. and Ben Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth : A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 1995), 293-4.
3. The comparative framework used is in part modelled on that used by Ronald Herms, “‘Being Saved without Honor': A Conceptual Link between 1 Corinthians 3 and 1 Enoch 50?,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 29, no. 2 (2006).
4. Both Greek text and English translation of 2 Maccabees are taken from Lancelot Charles Lee Brenton, The Septuagint Version of the Old Testament and Apocrypha. With an English Translation and with Various Readings and Critical Notes (Grand Rapids,: Zondervan Pub. House, 1972), 207.
5. Little is known of Jason of Cyrene, and even less of the anonymous abridger.
6. Also known as Judas Maccabeus.
7. Or possibly the abridger.
8. Several scholars note this parallel e.g. Ethelbert Stauffer, New Testament Theology (London,: SCM Press, 1955), 299 n. 544.; Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, The New International Commentary on the New Testament (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub. Co., 1987), 767 n. 32.; Richard B. Hays, First Corinthians, Interpretation, a Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville, Ky.: John Knox Press, 1997), 297.; Thiselton, First Epistle to the Corinthians, 1247. Of these: Stauffer merely asserts the connection without argument; Fee argues that Judah’s actions ‘were not so much vicarious sacrifices for the dead as an appeal to God to have mercy’ and therefore an ‘innocent’ practice that Paul feels no need to rebuke in the Corinthians; Hays sees evidence that provides a way to render vicarious baptism an ‘intelligible process'; and Thiselton rejects the connection as ‘too slender and tenuous to bear the weight of such an extension of the theology of baptism’.
9. So John R. Bartlett, The First and Second Books of the Maccabees, The Cambridge Bible Commentary: New English Bible (Cambridge [Eng.]: University Press, 1973), 215. cf. Doran, who argues for a date sometime during ‘the early years of John Hyrcanus’ Robert Doran, Temple Propaganda : The Purpose and Character of 2 Maccabees, Catholic Biblical Quarterly. Monograph Series 12 (Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1981), 112.
10. Thiselton, First Epistle to the Corinthians, 29-30.
11. cf. Fik Meijer, A History of Seafaring in the Classical World (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1986), 143. Meijer notes that it was the Alexandrian corn trade that was the cause of ‘rapid development’ and ‘economic revival’ in Roman Corinth.
12. Others include Isa 26:19 ; Dan 12:2; Tob 13:2. cf. Christopher L. Mearns, “Early Eschatological Development in Paul : The Evidence of 1 Corinthians,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament, no. 22 (1984): 20.
13. cf. Herms, “Being Saved without Honor.” and Richard A. Horsley, “Gnosis in Corinth : 1 Corinthians 8:1-6,” New Testament Studies 27, no. 1 (1980): 51. If Herms’ hypothesis of a link between 1 Corinthians 3 and 1 Enoch 50 is correct, 1 Cor 15:29 is not even the first text in the epistle to be connected to Alexandrian literature. Similarly, Horsley’s conjecture is that the Corinthian conception of σοφία is largely congruous with Wisdom and Philo; the latter is certainly Alexandrian, whilst the former, if not Alexandrian, is at least heavily influenced by an Alexandrian worldview.
14. The Greek text of 1 Cor 15:29 is taken from UBS4, whilst the English text is the author’s translation. As mentioned above, both Greek and English texts of 2 Macc 12:44 are from Brenton, Septuagint, 207.
15. Similarly, the sin offering was, apparently, ‘a reconciliation for the dead, that they might be delivered from sin’ (12:45).
16. cf. DeMaris, “Corinthian Religion and Baptism for the Dead (1 Corinthians 15:29) : Insights from Archaeology and Anthropology,” 662.
17. Witherington, Conflict & Community, 294.
18. cf. Acts 17:28, where Paul repurposes the writings of gentile poets. One of the texts, in its original context, applied to Zeus, but Paul uses them both for his own purposes.
19. In a similar way, a Christian today might complete a half-quoted proverb or an alluded to parable.
20. Hays, First Corinthians, 267.

Question

How much evidence is there in 1 Corinthians that a distorted eschatology lies behind the errors and excesses of the Corinthian church? What do we learn from 1 Corinthians concerning Paul’s own eschatological perspective?

Abstract

This paper posits an ‘over-realised’ eschatology in Corinth as foundational to many of the errors and excesses observed and addressed by the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians. The evidence for this position is presented, largely following the work of Thiselton,¹ and defended against the competing claim of Hays that the Corinthians suffered from a lack of eschatological thinking rather than an overabundance.² This over-realized eschatology is then connected to many of the errors and excesses on view in 1 Corinthians, particularly those associated with their pneumatic enthusiasm. A second stream of eschatological distortion, a denial of future bodily resurrection based on a Hellenistic dualism, is then identified. This is tied to the errors and excesses of the libertines and ascetics in chapters 5-7. Throughout, the Apostle’s own eschatological position is traced, and found to reflect a dialectical tension between that which is and that which will be: the age to come is inaugurated in the life, death and resurrection of Christ, and this brings attendant blessings; but the present age has not yet passed away, nor will it do so until all things (including death) are placed under Christ’s feet.

Essay

The Apostle Paul uses eschatological language throughout his first epistle to the Corinthians, starting in his opening prayer (1:7-9) and eventually climaxing in his sustained defence of a bodily resurrection (15:1-58). He frequently stresses future events as a basis for present action (4:5; 6:2, 9; 7:29-31; 11:26, 32; 15:58). In fact, this very stress on future events (as future events) has led numerous scholars to posit the presence of an eschatological distortion in the Corinthian church, which Paul attempts to correct in this epistle. The most common such reconstruction is that of an ‘over-realised’ eschatology, in which the Corinthians saw themselves as already living in the eschatological kingdom. This view boasts support from impressive array of scholars, including Barrett, Thiselton, Mearns, Fee and Witherington.³ Recent years, however, have seen the rise of a new theory, offered by scholars such as Hays (1997), Horsley (1997), and Wright (2003).⁴ This reconstruction suggests that the Corinthian problem was not one of too much eschatology, but rather too little. In spite of Wright’s confident assertion that ‘[m]any scholars have come round’ and that the earlier reading is ‘increasingly abandoned’, this latter is still by far the minority reading.⁵ The works of Thiselton and Hays may be considered representative of these two viewpoints, and will usefully serve as touchstones for the following comparison.

In his landmark article, Thiselton lays out the evidence for an over-realised eschatology in Corinth by showing that it provides a ‘single common factor which helps to explain an otherwise diverse array of apparently independent problems at Corinth’.⁶ Thus, he detects in chapters 1-4 a Corinthian party challenging the need for spiritual leadership now that all believers have the Spirit;⁷ an anti-nomian party in chapters 5-10;⁸ the Lord’s Supper interpreted as an eschatological banquet in chapter 11;⁹ eschatologically driven pneumatic enthusiasts in chapters 12-14;¹⁰ and a denial of a future bodily resurrection in chapter 15.¹¹ Repeatedly, on Thiselton’s reading, Paul urges the Corinthians to remember that significant aspects of the eschatological kingdom remain yet future. Christ will return (1:7-9; 11:26; 15:23) and it is in his wake that resurrection (15:23), judgement and reward (3:10-15; 4:5; 6:2, 9; 9:24-27; 11:32), perfect knowledge and wisdom (4:8-13; 8:2; 13:2) will follow.

Hays offers a number of criticisms of Thiselton’s reconstruction.¹² He accuses Thiselton of basing his hypothesis on ‘an improbable construction about Gnosticism in Corinth’,¹³ although Thiselton explicitly denies this in a later work.¹⁴ Hays’ primary criticism, however, is that Thiselton’s case rests on only two substantive texts (4:8 and 15:12).¹⁵ The rest, he says, is merely repeatedly showing that Paul appeals to future eschatology in order to correct the Corinthians’ behaviour, but this does not prove a realised eschatology. Hays’ criticism is undermined by his imprecise characterisation of Thiselton’s position,¹⁶ yet he is correct in his analysis of Thiselton’s exegetical support. 1 Corinthians 4:8 and 15:12 are the key texts upon which Thiselton’s case hangs.

Over against this position, Hays offers two theses: (a) Paul was trying to teach the Corinthians to think eschatologically; and (b) Paul wanted the Corinthians to reshape their identity in the light of Israel’s Scripture.¹⁷ Of these the first is directly relevant to the present discussion, for it implies that the Corinthians did not have any concept of an eschaton to start with, whereas a realised or over-realised eschatology necessarily presupposes such an eschatological framework.¹⁸ Instead, Hays posits that the Corinthians drew upon non-eschatological Greco-Roman culture, and specifically popular Cynic and Stoic thought.¹⁹ In support of this he reads πάντα ἔξεστιν (10:23) as a Corinthian slogan reflecting the belief that the σοφός is free to do whatever he wishes for he possesses knowledge to choose.²⁰ On Hays’ reading, then, the source of freedom is wisdom and knowledge. But it may be argued in response that wisdom and knowledge were themselves considered eschatological gifts (cf. 12:8; 13:12b). Paul says that, when they were called, not many amongst the Corinthians were σοφοὶ κατὰ σάρκα (1:26), and the implication is that if they are now wise they are σοφοὶ κατὰ πνεῦμα. Hays has not disproved eschatological thinking in Corinth but may rather have identified a means by which it may have been expressed in the language of the contemporary culture.

Both sides claim 4:8 as positive evidence for their respective positions, and so this is the obvious place to begin comparing them. 1 Corinthians 4:8-13 represents biting irony on the part of the Apostle, made apparent by the emphatic ἤδη at the start of the first two statements.²¹ The difficulty lies in discerning Paul’s purpose in using such irony. Lincoln is here representative of the over-realised eschatology reading, arguing that the Corinthians believed themselves to be living – indeed, ruling (4:8) – in the eschatological kingdom, and thus the beneficiaries of the Spirit and attendant charismatic gifts.²² Hays concedes that they were ‘suffering from an excess of pride and self-satisfaction’ but responds that ‘there are other ways to arrive at such a state besides having an accelerated apocalyptic timetable.’²³ In support of this, he points out that claims to be rich and to reign were made by both Cynic and Stoic philosophers.²⁴ Witherington goes further, citing numerous specific instances.²⁵ Importantly, however, he does not find this insight incompatible with the over-realised eschatology reading.²⁶ In fact, in noting the presence of an imperial eschatology in Corinth he may well have suggested the idea linking the two.²⁷

Fee points out that the three verbs chosen – κεκορεσμένοι, ἐπλουτήσατε and ἐβασιλεύσατε – directly attack both the Corinthians’ pride in general and specifically their view of spirituality.²⁸ The aorist tenses of the latter two suggest eschatological fulfilment.²⁹ They believed that all gifts had been given and were enthusiastically exercising them to the exclusion of all else. This led to significant errors and excesses, such as arrogance (4:18), flirting with idolatry (8:9-13; 10:14-17), a ‘magical’ view of the sacraments (10:1-6; 11:28-30; 15:29)³⁰ and an exalted view of the χαριματα that precluded a need for others (12:21). They believed that by the Spirit, and especially the gift of tongues, they already spoke the language of the angels, the language of heaven (13:1).³¹ This last is particularly important, since it highlights a significant weakness in Hays’ reconstruction: it is unable to account for the evident pneumatic enthusiasm in Corinth. If the source of the Corinthian excesses and errors lies in their Stoic knowledge and wisdom, how did they understand the presence of the Spirit and the charismatic gifts? It is difficult to conceive of a Christian pneumatology not derived from eschatology; 1:7 suggests that Paul made an explicit connection between the two,³² whilst 13:1 may suggest the Corinthians did also. Thus Thiselton’s conjectured over-realised eschatology is to be preferred as it brings coherence to more of the overall epistle than does Hays’.

Paul attempts to correct both the ‘already’ and the ‘not yet’ of the Corinthian position. He does this by emphasising the contrast with the acknowledged leaders of the church, the apostles, for whom suffering was a present and continuing reality (4:9-13).³³ He also reminds them later on that they are in a race not yet completed (9:24f.) and that they do not yet know as they ought (8:2; 13:8-10). On the subject of spiritual gifts and spirituality, he explains that they are not of the same order as those that characterise the eschatological kingdom, though they may herald it; they will not be needed in the age to come.³⁴ The only thing with abiding significance is love (13:8). As Thiselton writes, ‘Paul’s futurist perspective… is not only to qualify an over-realized eschatology at Corinth; it also represents an anti-enthusiastic stance’.³⁵

According to Paul, Christians live at the intersection of two ages: the proof that the new has come is the availability of eschatological gifts (1:7; 4:7);³⁶ the proof that the old is not yet gone is the continuing presence of affliction and death (4:9-13).³⁷ The Corinthians evidently think of themselves as having commenced life and reign in a kingdom (whether eschatological or otherwise) as evidenced by the repeated ingressive aorist ἐβασιλεύσατε (4:8, twice).³⁸ Paul instead points to a kingdom inaugurated but not yet consummated.³⁹ Similarly, the Apostle’s response in 15:54-57 suggests that the Corinthians made much of the ‘victorious’ life, so that Paul had to point to a victory still future.⁴⁰ The kingdom is inaugurated by the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, but will only be consummated when the full and final victory is won and every enemy is placed under his feet (15:25).⁴¹ And the last such enemy is death (15:26).

Death, or rather life after death, is the subject of another Corinthian eschatological distortion. That this is proved by 15:12 – ‘some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead’ – is not seriously contested by scholars. This is as far as the consensus goes, however, with the exact nature of the distortion hotly debated. Reconstructions are legion, but most commentators posit one or more of the following as Corinthian beliefs: (a) there is no life after death; (b) the resurrection has already occurred; (c) their Hellenistic dualism precluded belief in a bodily resurrection.⁴² To the first, Barrett objects that they could not have been considered Christians – ἐν ὑμῖν (15:12) – and hold such a belief. Mearns raises the possibility that this is Paul’s (possibly deliberate) misunderstanding of the Corinthian position, but his case is unpersuasive.⁴³ Of the second there are many variant readings. Schweitzer argued that the Corinthians believed the Jewish notion that only those alive at the Parousia would enter the kingdom, and the corollary that those alive at the coming of the Messiah (a past event in their eyes) would enter the kingdom; thus, since they were alive at his appearing they must now have gone through the resurrection event (baptismal regeneration) and be living in the Messianic kingdom.⁴⁴ Davies argues against this, pointing out that there were unlikely to be such ultra-conservative Jews in Corinth, and that there are other far more plausible explanations.⁴⁵ Instead, Davies endorses Héring’s view that there was no need for resurrection, as they were already experiencing the blessings of the kingdom.⁴⁶ Mearns develops this further, suggesting that they believed the mechanism by which they were transferred into the kingdom was through baptism, and thus the Corinthians interpreted resurrection as a metaphor for baptism,⁴⁷ whilst both Fee and Lincoln suggest that the Corinthians’ magical view of baptism and eucharist was such as for them to preclude the possibility of death altogether.⁴⁸ Thiselton argues strongly against all of these, on the grounds that they could hardly have misconstrued Paul so thoroughly after he lived with them for 18 months.⁴⁹

The third main view, that the Corinthians were possessed of a Hellenistic dualism that held a low view of the body, is the majority view.⁵⁰ Such a preconception would cause a natural resistance to the new (to them) idea of a bodily resurrection.⁵¹ As Davies puts it, ‘it was escape from the body, not any future reunion with it in resurrection, that seemed desirable to the Hellenistic world owing to its particular anthropology’.⁵² The main textual evidence for this is that the apostle devotes substantial energy in 15:35-49 towards answering the questions: πῶς ἐγείρονται οἱ νεκροί; and ποίῳ δὲ σώματι ἔρχονται; (15:35). Wright is persuasive in his argument that these are distinct, though related, questions.⁵³ On his reading, the first question pertains to the mechanism by which resurrection is accomplished (the Spirit) and the second relates to the nature of the post-resurrection existence.⁵⁴ The most attractive aspect of Wright’s hypothesis is the neatness of Paul’s use of σῶμα πνευματικόν as an answer to both questions. Ultimately, however, the syntax of 15:35 mandates against this as it would require δέ to function in a correlative manner without a corresponding μέν (or οὐ).⁵⁵ Thus the more natural reading is to take the second question as a specification of the first, with δέ functioning in a more mundane connective manner.⁵⁶ Thus Robertson and Plummer capture the sense of the first question in their paraphrase, ‘Can we conceive of such a thing? We cannot be expected believe what is impossible and inconceivable’.⁵⁷ In either case, judging by Paul’s response the emphasis seems to be on the second question: ‘With what kind of body do they [the dead who are raised] come?’ (15:35, NRSV). The nature of the anticipated objection is suggestive that Paul believed the Corinthians would not accept a future bodily resurrection.

In addition to denying the resurrection, the Corinthian disparagement of the body apparently led to errors and excesses in two other directions. Firstly, a party of libertines reasoned that if the body was doomed to eventual destruction anyway then what was done with, through and to it was of no importance. Their slogan was πάντα μοι ἔξεστιν (6:12; cf. 10:23). The results of this logic may be seen in the case of the incestuous man (5:1) and subsequent pride on the part of the church that such a thing should occur in their midst (5:2, 6). Similarly the sexual promiscuity on display in 6:12-20 may be attributed to this radical devaluing of that which is physical. The body was free to indulge fleshly appetites so long as the spirit was also free to meet spiritual appetites (6:13). To these people Paul offers the instruction δοξάσατε δὴ τὸν θεὸν ἐν τῷ σώματι ὑμῶν (6:20). Secondly, however, a party of ascetics applied their understanding of physical existence in a different direction. They reasoned that any indulgence of the σῶμα would be at the expense of the πνεῦμα.⁵⁸ Thus they argued that believers should abstain from sexuality altogether, reflected in their slogan  καλὸν ἀνθρώπῳ γυναικὸς μὴ ἅπτεσθαι (7:1b).⁵⁹ Paul is more circumspect in his response to this group, acknowledging that abstinence is indeed appropriate if it aids in serving the Lord (7:32-35); if it does not, however, there is nothing wrong with sexuality providing it is in the context of marriage (7:36). Thus, whilst Paul agrees to some extent with the ascetic party line, he does not agree with the reasoning that led them to it.⁶⁰

That Paul himself conceived of a bodily resurrection is quite clear. Resurrection is mentioned first in 6:14, in support of the argument that culminates in the imperative, ‘glorify God in your body’ (6:20, NRSV). Robertson & Plummer note that the inclusion of ἐκ νεκρῶν in 15:12 suggests a bodily resurrection, for Christ could not be conceived of as among the spiritually dead.⁶¹ The strongest evidence, however, is Paul’s response to the anticipated Corinthian objection (15:35). Paul offers two analogies that reveal the shape of his thought: (a) the planting of a seed (15:36-38); and (b) different kinds of bodies (15:39-41). The first emphasises both continuity and transformation.⁶² That which is sown goes from one existence to another by passing through death (36), at which time it is transformed from one body to another, according to the will of God (38). The second analogy stresses the adaptation of each body to its sphere of existence (39-41), with the implication that there will be an appropriate body for resurrection life. The σῶμα πνευματικόν is both continuous with and utterly distinct from σῶμα ψυχικόν. Thus Paul, whilst affirming a bodily existence in the age to come, distinguishes his position from a ‘crass Jewish conception of a “fleshly” resurrection’.

Neither σῶμα nor ψυχικόν hold negative connotations in this context, except possibly that of perishability (15:42b).⁶³ As Vos points out, the absence of the σαρκικός / σαρκινός word group in this passage is strong proof that the contrast here is between the creation body and the resurrection body, for these are Paul’s stock terms for describing the body invaded by sin (e.g. Rom 7:14; 1 Cor 3:1, 3; 2 Cor 10:4).⁶⁴ The Apostle is neither disparaging the ψυχικός nor exalting the πνευματικός but rather contrasting between the bodies belonging to the pre-eschatological and the eschatological ages respectively.⁶⁵

In 15:45-49, Paul appeals to the analogy of Adam and Christ, further reinforcing the eschatological flavour of his argument. Lincoln points out the progression in his comparisons: first, types of bodies (15:35-41); next, representatives of those types (15:42-46); finally Adam and Christ are reconsidered as representatives of two world orders, γῆ and οὐρανός (15:47-49).⁶⁶ Once again, the trajectory of Paul’s thought is an eschatological one.

What, then, may be said in conclusion? Thiselton’s case for an over-realised eschatology in Corinth is persuasive. The key exegetical evidence for the position is found in 4:8-13, wherein Paul satirises their arrogance and wilful blindness to the affliction that surrounds them, not least his own. The real strength of Thiselton’s argument is that it provides sufficient cause for the Corinthians’ pneumatic enthusiasm, something that Hays’ reading cannot. Even if one allows Hays’ position, however, this merely transforms the Corinthians’ eschatological distortion from too much eschatology to too little; rather than an over-realised eschatology they had an undeveloped eschatology. Either way, Paul’s consistent methodology is to repeatedly emphasise the remaining imperfections of the present age, and the blessings that await in the age to come. In particular, he lays great stress on a future somatic existence. In so doing, he comes into conflict with the second main stream of Corinthian eschatological distortion, a Hellenistic dualism that values the ‘spiritual’ (πνευματικός) to the exclusion of the ‘unspiritual’ (ψυχικός) and thus denies a future bodily resurrection (15:12). Between them, these two eschatological distortions may be seen to be causal in many, if not all, of the excesses and errors observed and addressed by the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians.

Works cited

Barrett, C. K. A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians, Black’s New Testament Commentaries. London,: Adam & Charles Black, 1968.

Blomberg, Craig. 1 Corinthians, The NIV Application Commentary. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1994.

Carson, D. A. The Cross and Christian Ministry : Leadership Lessons from 1 Corinthians. Paperback ed. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Book House, 2004.

Davies, W. D. Paul and Rabbinic Judaism : Some Rabbinic Elements in Pauline Theology. 4th ed. Mifflintown: Siegler Press, 1980 (1947). Reprint, 1998.

Dunn, James D. G. The Theology of Paul the Apostle. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub., 1998.

Fee, Gordon D. The First Epistle to the Corinthians, The New International Commentary on the New Testament. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub. Co., 1987.

Hays, Richard B. First Corinthians, Interpretation, a Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching. Louisville, Ky.: John Knox Press, 1997.

———. “The Conversion of the Imagination : Scripture and Eschatology in 1 Corinthians.” New Testament Studies 45, no. 3 (1999): 391-412.

Horsley, Richard A. 1 Corinthians, Abingdon New Testament Commentaries. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998.

Hurd, John C. The Origin of 1 Corinthians S.P.C.K, 1983.

Kistemaker, Simon. Exposition of the First Epistle to the Corinthians, New Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1993.

Kreitzer, L. Joseph. Jesus and God in Paul’s Eschatology, Journal for the Study of the New Testament. Supplement Series 19. Sheffield, England: JSOT Press, 1987.

Lincoln, Andrew T. Paradise Now and Not Yet : Studies in the Role of the Heavenly Dimension in Paul’s Thought with Special Reference to His Eschatology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981.

Mearns, Christopher L. “Early Eschatological Development in Paul : The Evidence of 1 Corinthians.” Journal for the Study of the New Testament no. 22 (1984): 19-35.

Morris, Leon. The First Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians : An Introduction and Commentary. 2nd ed, The Tyndale New Testament Commentaries. Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 1985.

Pate, C. Marvin. The End of the Age Has Come : The Theology of Paul. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan Pub. House, 1995.

Plevnik, Joseph. Paul and the Parousia : An Exegetical and Theological Investigation. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1997.

Robertson, Archibald, and Alfred Plummer. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the First Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians. Edited by Samuel Rolles Driver, Alfred Plummer and Charles Augustus Briggs. Second ed, The International Critical Commentary on the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1914.

Thiselton, Anthony C. “Realized Eschatology at Corinth.” New Testament Studies 24, no. 4 (1978): 510-26.

———. The First Epistle to the Corinthians : A Commentary on the Greek Text, The New International Greek Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 2000.

Vos, Geerhardus. The Pauline Eschatology. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1961.

Wallace, Daniel B. Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics : An Exegetical Syntax of the New Testament. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1996.

Witherington, Ben. Conflict and Community in Corinth : A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 1995.

Wright, N. T. The Resurrection of the Son of God, Christian Origins and the Question of God. London: SPCK, 2003.

Yarbrough, O. Larry. “Not Like the Gentiles : Marriage Rules in the Letters of Paul.” PhD, Scholars Press, Yale University, 1986.

Endnotes

1. Anthony C. Thiselton, “Realized Eschatology at Corinth,” New Testament Studies 24, no. 4 (1978).
2. Richard B. Hays, “The Conversion of the Imagination : Scripture and Eschatology in 1 Corinthians,” New Testament Studies 45, no. 3 (1999).
3. C. K. Barrett, A Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians, Black’s New Testament Commentaries (London,: Adam & Charles Black, 1968), 108f.; Thiselton, “Realized Eschatology.”; Christopher L. Mearns, “Early Eschatological Development in Paul : The Evidence of 1 Corinthians,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament, no. 22 (1984): 25.; Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, The New International Commentary on the New Testament (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub. Co., 1987), 12, 172.; Ben Witherington, Conflict and Community in Corinth : A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 1995), 139, 292, 302-4.
4. Richard B. Hays, First Corinthians, Interpretation, a Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville, Ky.: John Knox Press, 1997), 70.; Hays, “Conversion of the Imagination.”; Richard A. Horsley, 1 Corinthians, Abingdon New Testament Commentaries (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998), 69.; N. T. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God, Christian Origins and the Question of God (London: SPCK, 2003), 279, 96-7.
5. Ibid., 279.
6. Thiselton, “Realized Eschatology,” 512.
7. Ibid.: 513ff.
8. Ibid.: 515ff.
9. Ibid.: 521-2.
10. Ibid.: 512, 22.
11. Ibid.: 523-4.
12. Hays, “Conversion of the Imagination,” 407-8. cf.
13. Ibid.: 408 n. 41.
14. Anthony C. Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians : A Commentary on the Greek Text, The New International Greek Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans, 2000), 1174.
15. These are representative of two of the three main categories of eschatological thought found in this epistle: fulfilment/abundance (1:7-9; 4:8-13; 8:2; 10:11; 13:8-12; 15:20-28) and resurrection (6:14; 15:1-58). The third category is judgement/reward (3:10-15; 4:5; 6:2, 9; 9:24-27; 11:32).
16. In addition to reading a Gnostic element into Thiselton’s article (on which see above), Hays attacks the ‘tortuous interpretation’ of 15:12 as a belief that the Corinthians had already experienced resurrection ‘on the analogy of 2 Tim 2.17-18… which requires us to suppose that Paul misunderstands or misrepresents the Corinthians’ actual opinions’ (Hays, “Conversion of the Imagination,” 408.). In this he misrepresents Thiselton, whose actual position was that the Corinthians ‘placed such weight on the experience of transformation in the past and present that when they thought about resurrection the centre of gravity of their thinking was no longer in the future.’ (Thiselton, “Realized Eschatology,” 524.)
17. Hays, “Conversion of the Imagination,” 391.
18. Ibid.: 407.
19. Ibid.: 399. cf. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God, 279. Contra Barrett, First Epistle, 108f.
20. Hays, “Conversion of the Imagination,” 399. cf. 8:1.
21. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 172. Both Fee and Witherington note the possibility that these could be a continuation of the rhetorical questions in 4:7 (Ibid., 172 n. 36.; Witherington, Conflict & Community, 141.). The force of the irony remains undiminished in either case.
22. Andrew T. Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet : Studies in the Role of the Heavenly Dimension in Paul’s Thought with Special Reference to His Eschatology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 33.
23. Hays, First Corinthians, 70.
24. Ibid.
25. Witherington, Conflict & Community, 142f.
26. Ibid., 139.
27. Ibid., 139, 304.
28. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 172.
29. Barrett, First Epistle, 108f.
30. Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet, 34. Lincoln suggests that the Corinthians viewed the sacraments as expressions of pneumatic existence in the kingdom.
31. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 12, 778. cf. Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet, 34, 41.
32. Admittedly the connection in this case is with the ‘already’ of Paul’s eschatological outlook, but the emphasis here seems to be on the fact that they are given for the interval until the parousia.
33. D. A. Carson, The Cross and Christian Ministry : Leadership Lessons from 1 Corinthians, Paperback ed. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Book House, 2004), 105.
34. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God, 295.
35. Thiselton, “Realized Eschatology,” 515.
36. James D. G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub., 1998), 477.
37. C. Marvin Pate, The End of the Age Has Come : The Theology of Paul (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan Pub. House, 1995), 106.
38. Simon Kistemaker, Exposition of the First Epistle to the Corinthians, New Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House, 1993), 138. Kistemaker also argues that the periphrastic construction of the perfect passive participle κεκορεσμένοι together with the verb ‘to be’ in the present tense ‘signifies that for a considerable time the Corinthians have had all the things they needed’.
39. Of seven occurrences of the phrase ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ in Paul, five of them are found in this epistle (4:20; 6:9, 10; 15:24, 50). cf. Joseph Plevnik, Paul and the Parousia : An Exegetical and Theological Investigation (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 1997), 148.
40. Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet, 52. Yet, as Lincoln points out, Paul can still use the present participle διδόντι for the giving of victory in 15:57
41. L. Joseph Kreitzer, Jesus and God in Paul’s Eschatology, Journal for the Study of the New Testament. Supplement Series 19 (Sheffield, England: JSOT Press, 1987), 148.
42. cf. Thiselton, First Epistle to the Corinthians, 1172ff. Thiselton also notes the possibility that there may have been more than one group with more than one problem (Ibid., 1176.).
43. Mearns, “Early Eschatological Development,” 24.
44. Schweitzer, cited in Barrett, First Epistle, 347.
45. W. D. Davies, Paul and Rabbinic Judaism : Some Rabbinic Elements in Pauline Theology, 4th ed. (Mifflintown: Siegler Press, 1980 (1947); reprint, 1998), 292.
46. Héring, cited in Ibid. cf. Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet, 37.; Kistemaker, First Corinthians, 540. This is the view that Hays latches on to as representative of Thiselton’s reconstruction of an over-realised eschatology in Corinth (on which, see above).
47. Mearns, “Early Eschatological Development,” 20.
48. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 715.; Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet, 34.
49. Thiselton, First Epistle to the Corinthians, 511.
50. So Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 11-12.; Davies, Paul and Rabbinic Judaism, 301.; Horsley, 1 Corinthians, 200.; Plevnik, Paul and the Parousia : An Exegetical and Theological Investigation, 151.; Witherington, Conflict & Community, 306.; and Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God, 316, 30.
51. cf. John C. Hurd, The Origin of 1 Corinthians (S.P.C.K, 1983), 286.
52. Davies, Paul and Rabbinic Judaism, 303.
53. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God, 343.
54. cf. Leon Morris, The First Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians : An Introduction and Commentary, 2nd ed., The Tyndale New Testament Commentaries (Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 1985), 219.
55. cf. Daniel B. Wallace, Greek Grammar Beyond the Basics : An Exegetical Syntax of the New Testament (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1996), 670.
56. So Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 775, 80. and Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet, 38.
57. Archibald Robertson and Alfred Plummer, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the First Epistle of St Paul to the Corinthians, ed. Samuel Rolles Driver, Alfred Plummer, and Charles Augustus Briggs, Second ed., The International Critical Commentary on the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1914), 368. and quoted in Thiselton, First Epistle to the Corinthians, 1262.
58. Craig Blomberg, 1 Corinthians, The Niv Application Commentary (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1994), 132.
59. O. Larry Yarbrough, “Not Like the Gentiles : Marriage Rules in the Letters of Paul” (PhD, Scholars Press, Yale University, 1986), 119.
60. Ibid., 5.; Blomberg, 1 Corinthians, 136.
61. Robertson and Plummer, First Epistle, 351.
62. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 779.
63. Both Fee and Wright follow Jeremias in suggesting that Paul’s usage of φθείρω in 15:42, 50 indicates ‘the dead’ οver against the living. On this reading, ‘perishable’ is an indication of mortality and not intrinsically negative. Ibid., 799.; Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God, 358.
64. Geerhardus Vos, The Pauline Eschatology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1961), 168.
65. Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet, 40.
66. Ibid., 44.

Question

Compare and contrast 3 public worship services held in different settings.

Your written consideration will include comments on the theological and pastoral value of the various components of each gathering.

The essay needs to give evidence of the reading of your textbook and appropriate readings about New Testament, Reformed, Separatist, Anabaptist, ‘Frontier’ and Pentecostal forms of worship provided in the lessons.

Abstract

This essay compares and contrasts three different public worship services: the ordination and induction of a Uniting Church minister; the launch of a diocesan vision in an Anglican church; and a Pentecostal church’s first Sunday service in a new building. Each of these services is considered in terms of its content, structure and style and assessed for theological and pastoral merit. The most noticeable difference between the three services is found to be the level of interaction and participation on the part of the congregation. Finally, the common elements of the three services are highlighted, with the conclusion that the services differed greatly in the categories of structure and style but were remarkably similar in their content.

Essay

Over two successive weekends I attended three very different public worship events. The first was the ordination and induction of a Uniting Church minister; the second a diocesan-wide satellite link-up and vision launch in an Anglican church; and the third the first public worship service in a Pentecostal church’s new building.¹ In what follows I will describe each of these events in terms of their theological and ecclesiological distinctives and endeavour to assess their pastoral merits.² In doing so, I adopt an evaluative framework common to many writers, namely that of content, structure and style.³

On the 7th February, 2009, a Saturday,⁴ Kamaloni Tu’iono was ordained as a Minister of the Word and inducted as Minister of Sutherland and Loftus Church Congregations. Clearly this was a significant moment in the life of this church, and a good deal of effort had gone into preparing for the event. I attended with my own pastor, as unofficial representatives of our neighbouring church. We were greeted at the door and handed a copy each of the liturgy printed especially for the occasion.⁵

The building where the ordination was held is relatively modern, laid out along fairly conventional lines with a raised platform at one end and movable plastic seating for the congregation. On the platform, from left to right, were: seating for dignitaries; a lectern; the communion table (center); and a band consisting of 4 instrumentalists and 3 singers. As we found our seats, a sole pianist, located by himself off to the left-hand side of the building at the same level as the congregation, played 20-30 year old Christian choruses as a kind of ‘overture’.

The content of the service was appropriate to the occasion. An ordination is a recognition of a man or woman’s call into Christian ministry, and every aspect of the service reflected this. The music was thoughtfully chosen,⁶ the preachers were seasoned members of the presbytery nearing the end of their own season of faithful ministry, and the prayers focused on Kamaloni and his calling.

Proceedings were conducted by the secretary of the local presbytery. His role was apparently to facilitate and explain events as they occurred, as well as to act as a representative of the local presbytery who had appointed Kamaloni.⁷ According to the Uniting Church in Australia’s Basis of Union, ‘[b]y the participation in the act of ordination of those already ordained, the Church bears witness to God’s faithfulness and declares the hope by which it lives.’⁸

The presbytery were not the sole actors in this rite, for one of the key elements of this ordination and induction service was the participation of the congregation. 
Again, according to the Basis of Union, ‘[t]he Presbytery will ordain by prayer and the laying on of hands in the presence of a worshipping congregation’.⁹ Theologically, this is reminiscent of the commissioning of Paul and Barnabas, which also occurred in the context of a worship gathering (Acts 13:2). The implication is that the church, gathered to worship God and hear from him, is given ‘the guidance of the Holy Spirit to recognise among its members women and men called of God to preach the Gospel, to lead the people in worship, to care for the flock, to share in government and to serve those in need in the world.’¹⁰

Pastorally, it is important that the people bear witness to ordination for in so doing they take ownership of and responsibility for the ordinand.¹¹ This is doubly vital in the case of an induction, where the ministry of the inductee is exercised in the midst of the same congregation. In this instance, the congregation expressed their affirmation and acceptance of Kamaloni in many ways. He was presented to the congregation by representatives of the local presbytery, who indicated their belief that ‘Kamaloni is worthy to be ordained as a Minister of the Word in the Church of God’, to which the people responded ‘Amen. Thanks be to God,’ followed by applause.¹² Perhaps most strikingly, a representative group from the local church responded to the induction vows, bringing forward a Bible, water, bread and wine, ‘as signs of the ministry to which [Kamaloni was] ordained.’¹³

Use of such symbols was a characteristic of the service as a whole. Most of the symbols were at least briefly explained. For instance, in addition to the symbols already mentioned, Kamaloni was presented with a Bible as ‘a sign of the authority given you to preach the word of God and to administer the holy sacraments’ and a stole as ‘a sign of the joyful obedience which you owe to Christ’.¹⁴ Similarly, the elements of the Eucharist were explained as being a ‘sharing in the Body [and Blood] of Christ’.¹⁵ The pastoral advantage of such explanation is not that it exhaustively details the nature of the symbol but rather that it provides an entry point into its mystery. There is also theological value in exposing congregants to symbols, for it helps them grow accustomed to biblical imagery and thus to understand the Bible better.

The service was structured in a traditional manner. The distinct movements of proceedings were highlighted by headings in the “Order of Service”, and were as follows: gathering; the Word; ordination; induction; communion; and sending.¹⁶ These elements were clearly and logically connected, with the connection often made explicit by means of explanation (either by the chairperson or printed in the “Order of Service”). Again, this explanation has great pastoral implications, as it helps participants to realise that worship is not a set of discrete, isolated events but rather an organic response to God’s action in Christ.¹⁷

The style of Kamaloni’s induction service might best be described in terms of temporal, cultural and theological continuity. An important part of the act of ordination was a ‘narration of steps’, wherein the secretary of the presbytery spoke of the ordinand’s journey towards ordination, including his training and previous ministry experience. Indeed, many members of his previous congregation were present, with some contributing to a musical item. This acknowledgment of temporal continuity was matched by a recognition of Kamaloni’s cultural heritage, which found expression both in the decoration of the church and some of the music selected for musical items. Indeed, the stole presented to Kamaloni was decorated in the fashion of the Pacific Islands. Finally, it was clear that the service of ordination  and induction was in theological continuity with the historic Christian church, incorporating such well-attested elements as the salutation,¹⁸ sursum corda,¹⁹ sanctus²⁰ and the Nicene Creed.²¹

Thus the service as a whole was distinctly purposeful, as appropriate for the occasion. The leadership was entrusted to those who were themselves already ordained, lending both their authority and their experience to the occasion. The congregation was encouraged to actively participate and respond, through verbal response, symbolic actions and a clear and logical structure, supplemented by explanation where required. The service as a whole was in temporal, cultural and theological continuity with historic Christianity.
Contrast this singleness of purpose with the worship service that I attended the next day at my own church. In addition to being a regular Sunday service, this particular day was the day nominated as the diocesan vision launch, with a diocesan-wide telecast, and also the parish’s Annual General Meeting of Parishioners! The service commenced at 9.30AM, 15 minutes earlier than the regular starting time, allowing half an hour for ‘local’ content before the telecast started. The pastor, acting as service leader for the day, welcomed us with a brief explanation of the agenda for the day followed by singing, prayer, notices and the annual Churchwarden’s report.²² There followed a time of intercessory prayer, with specific attention given to current events,²³ missionaries, and the events to follow.²⁴

Much of the structure and style of the service was dictated by the telecast portion of the service, which was conducted according to a strict timetable. Where the ordination could take as long as required, the time allotted for the telecast was one hour.²⁵ These timing constraints, whilst necessary for the coordination of such a large event, led to a feeling of spectatorship rather than participation, amplified by the use of the television medium which is intrinsically passive.

Worship according to program is a growing trend in the church today. Some church-goers prefer the predictability of knowing that the service will be over in an hour and they can have the rest of the day to themselves. Others derive comfort from the familiarity of at least the structure and style, and often the content as well, being maintained from week to week. According to Dawn, ‘the development of perfect sound tracks has caused many worshipers to be dissatisfied now with merely human musicians who make mistakes’ and planning gives those ‘producing’ a worship service opportunity to make sure everything is polished.²⁶ All of this, however, results in a culture of passivity, with a corresponding perception of worship as entertainment rather than participation.

In the case of this event, there was obviously some recognition of this potential for passivity and, wherever possible, steps were taken to overcome it and to invite participation. For example, the event was hosted by a church within the diocese rather than broadcast from a studio, and the footage included many shots of the host congregation. This made it feel like an extension of a single church’s gathering for worship; it was clearly a live event rather than a pre-packaged production. Similarly, there were many of the participational elements of a regular Anglican service, including singing, a prayer of confession, Apostle’s creed and an occasional prayer for the event. When compared to the interactivity of the ordination service, however, it was still predominantly one-way, and this was a direct consequence of the medium employed.

The use of technology in this service was ground-breaking, at least for the Anglican church in Sydney. Churches could either connect to the telecast via digital television or an internet connection. According to an Anglican Media release, 25% of churches used the event as an opportunity to improve their technological capabilities, and ours was no exception.²⁷ In doing so, churches gain access to numerous digital video resources that may be used in church services.²⁸ Some churches are taking this one step further, leveraging similar technology on a week to week basis in order to support multiple campuses.²⁹ This allows greater specialisation within a large church, as pastors at the individual campuses are released from preaching duties and can focus on local concerns. On the other hand, our culture conditions us to be passive receivers of what we see on television, and it is all too easy for this to occur where the immediacy of a physically present preacher is lost.³⁰ On balance, then, telecast is appropriate for special events such as the one under discussion, but substantial education is required before it is pastorally viable for regular worship.

It was clear to all that there was a purpose behind the telecast, and that purpose was not, primarily, to worship. The key intention was to launch the diocesan vision and the Connect ’09 program, in which the Anglican church in Sydney seeks to reach every person in the diocese with the gospel. The centrepiece of proceedings was the Archbishop’s sermon, entitled “A Great City and a Great God”, a message based on Jonah 3 & 4.³¹ One of the virtues of the televised service was that entire diocese were able to hear the same message at the same time. This is particularly important in launching such an ambitious program of evangelism, for which a significant commitment is required on the part of each church. People will not own a second-hand vision, and vision is pastorally important: ‘Where there is no vision, the people perish’ (Prov 29:18 KJV).

The structure and style of this service, then, were largely driven by the technology employed as a medium, as well as incorporating some elements of traditional Anglican corporate worship. In particular, the telecast format limited the amount of interactivity possible, making it very different to the Uniting Church ordination described above. Like the ordination, however, the content was determined by the occasional purpose of the event, in this case to present a vision for evangelism.

Vision was also a hallmark of the third worship event that I attended. This Pentecostal church had formally opened their new church building in the preceding week, and this was the first Sunday in the new auditorium. This was a significant milestone in the life of this church, and as such the pastor took the opportunity to once again set before the congregation the church’s vision. All who attended were handed a copy of the church’s vision statement printed on an A4-sized piece of cardboard, complete with fridge-magnets on the reverse side.³² This document calls the church to imagine a ‘God infused community of people’ and to recognise that ‘the Holy Spirit is at work bringing the church we have just imagined into being’.³³ The Connect ’09 vision launch was calling people to participate in something new, but this vision had clearly already been articulated and disseminated in the church. It was both an encouragement that progress was being made in the realisation of the vision and an exhortation to continue on, for there was still much to be done.³⁴

In his sermon, the pastor reiterated the prophecy that had directly led to the building of the new auditorium. The prophecy centred on the initial chapters of Joshua, with the people of Israel on the verge of entering the land promised to them, yet the emphasis of the sermon was on the prophecy rather than the scripture that the prophecy purported to interpret and apply.³⁵ This was a strong contrast with the sermons at the other events described above where the address, though occasional, clearly arose directly from the text of Scripture. This model of preaching is not uncommon in Pentecostal churches, where extra-biblical prophecy is taken seriously. Most churches stop short of according them the same respect and authority given canonical Scripture, instead assessing their validity in the light of what the Bible says.³⁶ This is in accord with apostolic mandate (1 Thess 5:20-21; 1 John 4:1). I can only assume that a similar process was followed in this case, for it was clear that the prophecy had been accepted as genuine.

The new building itself, dubbed ‘the Lifeboat’, is a 700-seat auditorium, with a raised platform at one end and large projection screens on either side. The walls of the room were decorated with brightly coloured banners and posters, but otherwise indistinguishable from a modern theatrical or concert-hall. The seating was comprised of individual plastic chairs laid out in rows facing the stage.³⁷ This was very different to the fixed wooden pews and wooden pulpit of the Anglican church and the richly decorated and tapestried Uniting church. Clearly the purpose driving the design of the auditorium was functionality and flexibility, as there was little of the numinous found in previous generations of church buildings. Nevertheless the cosmopolitan architecture will doubtless make the building more accessible to those who would not set foot in a stained glass windowed cathedral and the flexibility will aid the church in being ‘people [who] know there are no rules when it comes to “doing Church”‘.³⁸

This ‘no rules’ mentality was reflected in the content and structure of the service. Where the Uniting Church ordination was entirely according to a printed liturgy, and the Anglican vision launch partially so, here there was no sense of continuity with the historic church: no creeds, no sense of logical progression in the ordering of the service, no communal prayers. The eucharistic elements were accompanied, not by the traditional words of institution, but rather by a visual metaphor: the lights in the building were gradually darkened to simulate sin entering the world, then lightened to reflect the ‘light coming into the world’.³⁹ The commentary was certainly Christ-centred but not really cross-centred. In contrast to the use of symbols in the ordination service, it was not unclear how the symbols used (light and dark) applied to the actions that followed (taking wine and bread). Perhaps the intention was to ‘purposefully avoid any liturgy or other sacred actions to demonstrate the simplicity of the gospel’,⁴⁰ but I found the mixture of images confusing rather than clarifying.

The style of the service was also apparently geared towards ‘seekers’. The stage was lit, but the rest of the room was in darkness for the singing portions of the service. This lighting arrangement, together with the video being projected either side of the stage, the large band, multiple vocalists and ‘worship leader’ on stage all combined to produce a concert-like atmosphere.⁴¹ As with the telecast service above the danger was of passivity and spectatorship but, unlike the telecast, little was done to counteract this risk. There were no congregational prayers or creeds, and the only participation invited or expected was in singing, sporadic affirmations interjected by individuals during the sermon and occasional bursts of congregational applause.⁴² Even in the area of singing the engagement was inconsistent, for as I looked around during the musical portions of the service I estimated that only about half of the congregation actually participated in the singing. Yet the volume issuing from the band was such that their voices were not missed. It is often argued that this atmosphere is part of removing ‘any unnecessary barriers… to make way for teaching and living the gospel’,⁴³ as it is less confronting for the unchurched. Yet we must heed Kauflin’s warning that ‘what you win people with is what you generally win them to’ for if we don’t we will end up with a church of consumers desiring to be entertained rather than worshippers wanting to worship God.⁴⁴

This content of this service, like that of the two already considered, was according to its occasional nature and purpose. The structure and style, and even the architecture, were ‘seeker-sensitive’ and non-confrontational. As a consequence, however, the service was also prone to passivity for believers and non-believers alike.

On the whole, the strongest contrast between the three services was in the area of interactivity. On a continuum from full participation to non-participation, the ordination was toward the former, the Pentecostal service toward the latter, and the vision launch somewhere in between.

For all that there were many differences – theological, pastoral and practical – the three worship services included many common elements. Most of the differences were in the categories of structure and style; in spite of the occasional nature of the three services, the content was remarkably similar. All three were gospel-centred churches, focused on ordaining a minister of the gospel and transmitting it by means of an evangelism program and a new facility respectively. In doing these things all were looking to the future, whilst the Uniting and Anglican churches also acknowledged their past in the form of prayers and creeds of the historic Christian church. All of the services included preaching for instruction and exhortation, and all the sermons were based to some extent on Scripture. Prayer was a common element, as was singing. All three gatherings were local expressions of the Christian church. Above all, they each expounded and embodied the person and work of Jesus Christ, which is the very definition of Christian worship.

Bibliography

Burdan, Steve. “Sacred Actions among Contemporary Churches.” In The Sacred Actions of Christian Worship, edited by Robert Webber, xliii, 366 p. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 1993.
Dawn, Marva J. A Royal “Waste” Of Time : The Splendor of Worshiping God and Being Church for the World. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub., 1999.
Detscher, Alan. “The Sacred Actions of Christian Worship.” In The Complete Library of Christian Worship V. 6, edited by Robert Webber, xliii, 366 p. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 1993.
Hippolytus. Apostolic Tradition. Translated by Burton Scott Easton. Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1962.
“Imagine…”. Nowra City Church.
Jensen, Peter. “A Great City and a Great God.”.
Kauflin, Bob. Worship Matters : Leading Others to Encounter the Greatness of God. Wheaton, Ill.: Crossway Books, 2008.
Lang, Bernhard. Sacred Games : A History of Christian Worship. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997.
“Order of Worship : A Service for the Ordination of Kamaloni Tu’iono as a Minister of the Word and His Induction as Minister of Sutherland and Loftus Uniting Church Congregations.” The Uniting Church in Australia, Synod of NSW & ACT, Presbytery of Georges River, 2009.
Percy, Natasha & Halcrow, Jeremy. “Historic Live Tv Hook up Launches Sydney Anglican Campaign Connect 09.”.
Uniting Church in Australia, The. The Basis of Union : As Approved by the Congregational Union of Australia (1973), the Methodist Church of Australasia (1974) and the Presbyterian Church of Australia (1974), for the Formation of the Uniting Church in Australia. 1992 ed. Melbourne: Uniting Church Press, 1992.
Webber, Robert. Ancient-Future Worship : Proclaiming and Enacting God’s Narrative, Ancient-Future Series. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Books, 2008.
———. Worship Old & New : A Biblical, Historical, and Practical Introduction. Rev. ed. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1994.

Endnotes

1. The ordination was approximately 3 hours in duration (compared to 1 to 1.5 hours for the other services) and this is reflected to some extent in the consideration given to each below.
2. This latter is difficult because, of the three events attended, I have ongoing contact with only one of the congregations involved.
3. e.g. Robert Webber, Ancient-Future Worship : Proclaiming and Enacting God’s Narrative, Ancient-Future Series (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Books, 2008), 90. cf. ———, Worship Old & New : A Biblical, Historical, and Practical Introduction, Rev. ed. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1994), 149ff.
4. cf. Hippolytus, Apostolic Tradition, trans. Burton Scott Easton (Hamden, Conn.: Archon Books, 1962), 2.2. Hippolytus advocates that the ordinand ‘with the presbytery and such bishops as may be present, assemble with the people on a Sunday.’
5. “Order of Worship : A Service for the Ordination of Kamaloni Tu’iono as a Minister of the Word and His Induction as Minister of Sutherland and Loftus Uniting Church Congregations,” (The Uniting Church in Australia, Synod of NSW & ACT, Presbytery of Georges River, 2009). It is unclear to what extent this liturgy is a derivative work. It was certainly customised to the extent that names and hymns were inserted at the appropriate locations; it may, however, have been developed entirely for this event. In any case, as we shall see, it incorporated many elements common to worship throughout the Christian era.
6. e.g. the theme of the youth band’s musical item was the lyric ‘We’ll be faithful in our calling / You’ll be faithful to finish the work you’ve begun in us.’
7. This is an illustration of the essentially presbyterian ecclesiology of the Uniting Church in Australia, with pastoral appointments being made by the local presbytery rather than by a bishop (Roman Catholic, Anglican) or the local congregation (congregational). cf. The Uniting Church in Australia, The Basis of Union : As Approved by the Congregational Union of Australia (1973), the Methodist Church of Australasia (1974) and the Presbyterian Church of Australia (1974), for the Formation of the Uniting Church in Australia, 1992 ed. (Melbourne: Uniting Church Press, 1992), §14.
8. Ibid. This is subtly different to the Anglican and Catholic traditions, where the participation of those previously ordained is indicative of an unbroken apostolic succession. cf. Alan Detscher, “The Sacred Actions of Christian Worship,” in The Complete Library of Christian Worship V. 6, ed. Robert Webber (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 1993), 306.
9. Uniting Church in Australia, Basis of Union, §14. . cf. Detscher, “The Sacred Actions of Christian Worship,” 301, 06.
10. Uniting Church in Australia, Basis of Union, §14.
11. cf. Baptisms and marriages, where the witnesses (the worshipping community) are charged to uphold those being baptised and married respectively.
12. “Order of Worship,” 6. cf. ‘And when he is made bishop, all shall offer him the kiss of peace, for he has been made worthy’ Hippolytus, Apostolic Tradition, 4.1.
13. “Order of Worship,” 12. cf. Detscher, “The Sacred Actions of Christian Worship,” 303-04. Detscher notes that the vesting of ordinands with symbols of office was a common practice by the 10th century, although were in many cases rejected by the Reformers.
14. “Order of Worship,” 11. cf. Medieval ordination rites, where bishops were presented with a pastoral staff and ring, presbyters with a chalice and paten, and deacons with the book of the Gospels. ———, “The Sacred Actions of Christian Worship,” 303.
15. “Order of Worship,” 18.
16. cf. Webber, Worship Old & New, 150. Webber identifies ‘four basic acts of Sunday worship': the assembling of the people; Scripture readings and preaching; communion and prayers of thanksgiving; and sending the people forth. Thus, the pattern above matches Webber’s, with the inclusion of the two occasion-specific acts of ordination and induction.
17. ‘Because the entire congregation constitutes the players in the drama of worship, it is important that all of the members know their parts, understanding the meaning of what is being done, and participate purposefully.’ Ibid., 82.
18. ‘The Lord be with you: / And also with you!’ “Order of Worship,” 16. cf. Hippolytus, Apostolic Tradition, 4.2-3.
19. ‘Lift up your hearts: / We lift them to the Lord!’ “Order of Worship,” 16. cf. ———, Apostolic Tradition, 4.3. Interestingly, whilst both the salutation and the sursum corda are traditionally associated with the Eucharist, their first appearance in the Apostolic Tradition is in connection with instructions for the ordination of bishops.
20. ‘Holy, holy, holy Lord…’ “Order of Worship,” 17.
21. Ibid., 4-5.
22. Officially the Annual General Meeting follows the morning service. However it is customary in our church to present the reports from the Churchwardens and Pastor during the service, the latter forming the sermon for the day. On this occasion the Pastor’s report was postponed until the formal meeting, in deference to the Archbishop’s message during the telecast.
23. e.g. the recent heat wave, and the Victorian bushfires.
24. i.e. the telecast and AGM.
25. This was how much time had been booked on the digital television station.
26. Marva J. Dawn, A Royal “Waste” Of Time : The Splendor of Worshiping God and Being Church for the World (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub., 1999), 72.
27. Natasha & Halcrow Percy, Jeremy, .”Historic Live Tv Hook up Launches Sydney Anglican Campaign Connect 09.”
28. e.g. Anglican Media recently launched a plaform they call SX Digital, offering ‘video news, apologetics, illustrations, notices and other biblical content’ Ibid.
29. The most common setup is that one preacher preaches live at one campus and that is then relayed to other campuses via satellite or DVD. e.g. at Seattle’s Mars Hill, the preaching pastor (Mark Driscoll) preaches live at the four services held at the ‘main’ campus. All of these sermons are recorded, and the best is selected and played at each of the ‘secondary’ campuses the following week.
30. Dawn, A Royal “Waste” Of Time, 83. Dawn also highlights the risk of reinforcing and augmenting the unhealthy values that television promotes – consumerism, passivism etc. – when we adopt it as our medium for worship Ibid., 75..
31. Peter Jensen, “A Great City and a Great God.”
32. “Imagine…”, Nowra City Church.
33. Ibid.
34. e.g. All of the seats were laid out for the service, in spite of an expected attendance of less than half of the capacity. This fact was directly referenced by the pastor in his message, the point being that there were many still to be reached with the gospel.
35. e.g. The prophecy was read, in full, at the start of the sermon, whereas the book of Joshua was appealed to only sporadically, usually in support of some point that the pastor had just made.
36. Bernhard Lang, Sacred Games : A History of Christian Worship (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1997), 404-07.
37. These were not the ‘final’ chairs, which were yet to be purchased, but every indication was that the new chairs would be in the same mold.
38. “Imagine…”.
39. The lights darkened so gradually that, at first, I thought it merely a ‘technical difficulty’ in the new building!
40. Steve Burdan, “Sacred Actions among Contemporary Churches,” in The Sacred Actions of Christian Worship, ed. Robert Webber (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 1993), 60.
41. cf. Lang, Sacred Games : A History of Christian Worship, 399-400.
42. Ibid., 399.
43. Burdan, “Sacred Actions among Contemporary Churches,” 60.
44. Bob Kauflin, Worship Matters : Leading Others to Encounter the Greatness of God (Wheaton, Ill.: Crossway Books, 2008), 192.

Question

What is the origin and purpose of gathered worship for Christians? Comment on the biblical foundations for the practice and evaluate the way your denomination and local church conduct weekly meetings for community prayer and praise.

Abstract

Why do Christians gather together to worship? This essay explores the ontological, historical and eschatological origins of gathered worship, noting that it is necessary to look both forwards and backwards in time to properly understand ‘origins’. The ontological origins are found in the action of the Trinity: God acts and men and women respond in worship. Old Testament Israel, the Jewish synagogue, and pagan religion provide the historical origins of the Christian gathering, although the earliest Christians did not adopt all of the teachings or practices they were heirs to. The assembly is also an eschatological foreshadowing of the heavenly assembly, which may be considered an ‘origin’. The purposes of gathering for worship may be considered in terms of relationships: Christians relate ‘up’ to God, offering him praise and receiving his ministration; they relate ‘around’ to one another, serving and edifying the other members of the church; and they relate ‘out’ to society at large, maintaining their distinctiveness as God’s people and holding out and proclaiming the gospel. Finally, in light of this understanding of purpose, the practice of the Sydney Anglican Church is evaluated, including its specific expression at St John’s, Sutherland.

Essay

‘Origins’ are complex things. To understand the ‘origins’ of something, one must consider both its historical antecedents and the historical context in which it originates. When the subject is Christian gathered worship, typological and teleological relationships must also be investigated. Most important, however, are the ontological foundations of corporate worship, and to discover these one looks not for an ‘origin’ but an ‘originator’.

Scripture is clear that Christian worship is always a response to the revelation and action of the triune God. It is God who makes himself known to Moses, then redeems a people out of Egypt to worship him (Exod 3:12),¹ culminating in the first gathering for worship at Sinai (Exod 19-24). It is through Christ that this redemption is extended to all people in all places and at all times (Titus 2:14),² and it is on the basis of this mercy that Christians are able to present themselves as living sacrifices in spiritual worship (Rom 12:1-2). The Spirit joins them to Christ, that they may together be one body (1 Cor 12:13).³ As one author puts it, the vision of God and his work in Christ is the fuel, the quickening of the Spirit the flame, renewed spirit the furnace and worship the resultant heat.⁴ The foundation of all Christian worship, including gathered worship, is forever anchored in the nature and work of the Trinity.⁵ God acts and people respond.

This pattern of God acting and his people responding may be traced throughout the historical antecedents of the Christian gathering. Primarily, these are Jewish in nature and recorded for us in the Old Testament, although both post-exilic synagogue worship and pagan worship were also influential.

The cardinal event in Jewish salvation history is the Exodus, and the primary expression of worship is the Passover which celebrates this event.⁶ The Passover was a memorial for Israel’s benefit, to remind them of God’s redemptive actions, rather than an offering to the God who redeemed them.⁷ The Jewish Seder is ordered to recount the events of the Exodus, as well as to instruct in the meaning of the symbolic foods and gestures of the Passover.⁸ The Passover is reflected in the New Testament in the Lord’s Supper, or Eucharist. The relationship is not one of absolute continuity, for the Passover came to an end with its final celebration by Jesus.⁹ Nevertheless the purpose of the Lord’s Supper, as with the Passover, is remembrance (Luke 22:19; 1 Cor 11:24, 25). Jesus took the symbols of the Passover, the bread¹⁰ and the cup¹¹ and reinterpreted them as pointers to his imminent death. The Passover commemorated the Exodus; the Lord’s Supper proclaims the second Exodus, Christ leading his people out of their bondage to sin.¹² Thus, Christians redeem the Passover by interpreting it christologically.
Having led the people out of Egypt, God assembles Israel for the first time at the foot of Mount Sinai. He then sets out the terms of the Mosaic covenant, which were to be foundational to the life and worship of Israel from that point forward (Exod 19-24). Whilst God initiated a relationship with Abraham and the patriarchs, it is this covenant which defined the identity of God’s people.¹³ Several points may be noted. Firstly, Israel gathers in the presence of God. This is of tremendous significance, for God had previously revealed himself only to individuals such as the patriarchs. Now, however, the revelation is to an entire nation, thenceforth to be known exclusively as his. Indeed, the key symbols of Old Testament worship – the ark, tabernacle and temple – seem ‘designed to be a means of acknowledging and living in relation to God’s holy presence.’¹⁴ This presents a problem, however, for how can a sinful people remain in the presence of a holy God? Our second point, then, is that the presence of God necessitates a mediator. Israel tried to secure this mediation in the form of the Golden Calf (Exod 32) but God appointed Moses instead.¹⁵ This leads directly to our third point, that worship is always and only on God’s terms. Only Moses was permitted to meet God on the mountain; the penalty for anyone else setting foot there was death (Exod 19:12-13).¹⁶ Christians, however, are urged to draw near to God (e.g. Jas 4:8). The difference is that they do so on the basis of ‘a better hope’ (Heb 7:19)¹⁷ for God has appointed a better mediator, Jesus Christ (Heb 8:6). ¹⁸

Certain aspects of Jewish worship were emphatically rejected by the earliest Christians. The most significant of these is the sacrificial cultus, which Christians understand to have been fulfilled in Christ. Although sacrificial language is used regularly in the NT, it is clear that the usage is purely metaphorical.¹⁹ Similarly, whilst the first Christians continued to frequent the Temple until its destruction in 70 C.E.²⁰ this appears to have been based on convenience, or perhaps habit, rather than theological conviction. Peter and Paul locate the temple in the community of God’s people,²¹ and the writer to the Hebrews in the heavenly realm.²²

Christian gathered worship also owes much to the tradition of the synagogue. The synagogue was quite distinct from the Temple, being a meeting house for the people of God rather than a house for God himself.²³ The activities of the synagogue included an affirmation of faith,²⁴ prayer, and the public reading of the Scriptures.²⁵ The synagogue thanksgiving blessings, the berakoth, together with Jesus’ prayers and those of the earliest eucharistic liturgies strongly influenced Christian communion prayers.²⁶ Whilst Palestinian synagogues were ‘severely didactic’, those of the diaspora were more likely to incorporate celebration in song.²⁷ Each of these elements – creeds, prayers, Scriptures and blessings – appear in the earliest records of Christian worship.²⁸ Indeed, as Webber concludes,

The practices of the synagogue served as the matrix out of which the early Christian’s experience of worship was initially formed.²⁹

Not all of the influences on early Christian worship were Jewish. Along with the evolution³⁰ of the Gentile Christian came numerous pagan teachings and practices. Some were adopted by the church, such as the use of art as objects of worship³¹ and the singing of hymns.³² Indeed the very word translated ‘liturgy’³³ is a pagan one, denoting the public service offered by a citizen.³⁴ For the most part, though, Christianity stood in sharp contrast to pagan religions, remaining strictly monotheistic (if binitarian)³⁵ and resisting the demands of the imperial cult, Gnosticism³⁶ and other mystery religions,³⁷ and particularly the practice of temple feasts.³⁸

In summary, then, the earliest Christians appear to have adopted a three-fold approach to their historical antecedents and contemporaries. Some things were accepted, like assembling together in the presence of God, and gathering for the public reading of Scripture. Some things were rejected, such as the sacrificial cultus and physical temple. Finally, some things were redeemed or renewed, often by means of typological interpretation, such as the Passover.

Thus, the practice of Christians meeting for worship is instituted by the trinitarian God. Historical precedents may be traced to the practices of OT Israel, the Jewish synagogue and the pagan temple. However not all originals are temporally prior to their derivatives. The aroma is not the origin of the bread, though it may well be the first experienced. The eschatological origins of gathered worship must also be considered.
Christian gathered worship is intended to be a type of the worship of heaven.³⁹ The Revelation of John gives insight into that heavenly reality, and Christians gather together to seek its actualisation; thus believers pray that the Lord’s will should be done ‘on earth as it is in heaven’ (Matt 6:10). In so doing they seek ‘God’s rescue of the entire created order and the establishment of his rule over all heaven and earth’.⁴⁰ The Lord’s Supper allows participation in the life of the age to come,⁴¹ for communicants feed on true bread from heaven.⁴² The future benefits of justification are experienced now as God’s people participate in the body and blood of Christ (1 Cor 10:16). The Christian gathering originates from both historical and eschatological realities.
It is good to understand origins, but this is insufficient unless purpose is also studied. The Christian gathering is intended by God to establish and express, develop and define three key relationships: between God and the church; between individuals within the church; and between the church and the world. Just as origins have been considered in temporal terms (ancient and future) the purposes of the Christian gathering may be described in spatial terms (‘up’, ‘around’ and ‘out’).

At the heart of Christian worship is the relationship between God and his people. Worship is about God and us rather than God and me.⁴³ Jesus promises to be present where and when his people gather (Matt 18:20). The writer to the Hebrews urges believers to approach God (Heb 4:16) and to meet together (Heb 10:25).⁴⁴ Believers meet with God when they meet with each other.⁴⁵ At the same time, Christians are to express their relationship with God by identifying with Christ. It is no accident that the two Christian sacraments are symbols of participation. Baptism is the initiation rite, analogous to circumcision under the old covenant.⁴⁶ It is a public declaration of identification and participation in the death and resurrection of Christ (Rom 6:3-41; Col 2:12; 1 Pet 3:21).⁴⁷ Similarly, the Eucharist is considered an act of participation in Christ (1 Cor 10:16). The notion of participation is crucial, for it is only in union with Christ that a believer’s worship is acceptable; by being joined to him, they are one with him (1 Cor 6:17) and are permitted the ‘gift of participating through the Spirit in the incarnate Son’s communion with the Father’.⁴⁸

A necessary consequence, and perhaps prerequisite, of participation in Christ is that the many become one body (1 Cor 10:16-17). Paul writes to the Ephesians that ‘there is one body and one Spirit… one Lord, one faith, one baptism’ (Eph 4:4, 5) and on this basis argues for unity in the church (Eph 4:3, 13, 15 etc.).⁴⁹ Perhaps this is why singing, too, has found a place in Jewish and Christian worship since the earliest times, for congregational singing expresses and demonstrates togetherness.⁵⁰ As Hughes writes, ‘We are tragically diminished by non-participation in Christ’s Body. Correspondingly, the Church is diminished by our non-participation as well.’⁵¹ Thus, the relationship between God and his people who gather for worship may be characterised in two corollary statements: (1) as Christians draw near to Christ they draw near to each other; and (2) as Christians meet with each other they also meet with God.

Meeting together with other believers has other benefits as well. Returning to Ephesians 4, Paul expands upon the metaphor of the church as the body of Christ. God has given different people different gifts, and it is only in meeting together that these gifts can be used for ‘building up the body of Christ’ (Eph 4:11-16). Paul regularly uses this imagery of ‘building up’⁵² when speaking of Christian gatherings.⁵³ This work of edification is still God’s work, but he chooses to act through his people, giving gifts to individuals for the sake of the whole.⁵⁴ Believers rightly sing ‘Brother let me be your servant / Let me be as Christ to you’⁵⁵ for they meet in order that they might encounter Christ in one another.⁵⁶ These encounters may come in the form of service, encouragement or teaching. Ultimately, regularly gathering for worship should encourage a life of worship.⁵⁷

Gathering for worship is a distinctive mark of the Christian community, and worship helps define the boundaries of that community.⁵⁸ It provides Christians with the answers to questions of identity, loyalty, values, power, narrative, meaning and hope.⁵⁹ The Apostle Peter pictures God’s people in a series of corporate images – race, priesthood, nation, people – and declares their purpose to be proclaiming God’s mighty works (1 Pet 2:9). The cultic regulations, designed to set apart the people of God, have been fulfilled in Christ (Heb 9:26; 10:12 etc.). Nevertheless, the separation in belief and lifestyle that they engendered is still necessary if Christians are to bear witness to God’s character and will.⁶⁰ Evangelism is a by-product rather than a goal of worship, but believers are the salt of the earth, and charged not to lose their distinctive saltiness (Matt 5:13). Believers are a ‘colony of the Kingdom’⁶¹ and their relationship with the surrounding world is defined by their ambassadorial calling. Thus they remember God’s past works, anticipate his future rule, and actualise both past and future in the present, thus witnessing to, and thereby transforming, the world.⁶²

Worship, then, defines relationships with God, other Christians and society at large. Gathered worship provides the means for defining, expressing and building those relationships, as believers actualise Christ to one another and to the world. Current church practice must be evaluated according to the impact it has on these three key relationships. For example, consider the Anglican Church in Sydney, together with its specific expression in the local church in Sutherland (of which the author is a member).

Broadly speaking, the Sydney Anglican Church’s model for public, gathered worship is set forth in the 1662 Book of Common Prayer,⁶³ supplemented by An Australian prayer book.⁶⁴ The stated aim of these liturgies is,

to do that, which… might most tend to the preservation of Peace and Unity in the Church; the procuring of Reverence, and exciting of Piety and Devotion in the Publick [sic] Worship of God.⁶⁵

Clearly, the framers of The Book of Common Prayer had similar relational goals to those above: unity within the church, and reverent response to God.⁶⁶ They also reflect an understanding of a need to be ‘contemporary’, with explicit provision made for updating language according to cultural idiom and the needs of ministry.⁶⁷ One practical application of this principle may be seen in the recent “Big Day In,” the diocesan-wide satellite-linked church service to launch the diocesan vision. During this service, children were included by means of a special children’s program, and a special greeting and prayer were offered in the Mandarin language, in recognition of the significant Chinese demographic in the Sydney diocese.

In the local church in Sutherland, St John’s, there are three public services held for worship each Sunday. The first is a ‘traditional’ service, where the liturgy outlined in An Australian Prayer Book is followed, and communion celebrated every week. The service is led by an ordained clergyman. The second is billed as a ‘family’ service, starting at 9.45 A.M. The style of this service is contemporary, and attracts a broad range of congregants, from young families to the elderly. The service is led by lay members of the congregation, and varies greatly according to the talents and tastes of these leaders. Lay leadership leads to a greater feeling of ownership, and thus participation, by the congregation for the leader is ‘one of their own’.⁶⁸ The third service is in the evening, generally attracting high-school and university-aged people. Here, again, the leadership is by the laity, although on the whole the leaders are also younger, resulting in less diversity and depth in the services they lead.

Unfortunately this setup naturally leads to a stratification within the church, with members choosing a congregation to belong to rather than a church. It also promotes a consumer approach to worship, since these choices are based on preference and convenience, thus undermining our ability to stand against consumerism.⁶⁹ The church is aware of this, and seeks to supplement its public worship gatherings with monthly mid-week prayer meetings, termly informal social gatherings and a bi-annual parish weekend away, all of which span the three congregations. In addition, there are occasions throughout the church year where all of the congregations meet together in a unified public worship service, such as the major events of the church calendar (Christmas, Easter etc.) and the annual general meeting of parishioners. In doing these things, relationships are fostered throughout the church, contributing to a unified body.

Unity is also fostered by having common elements between all three weekly services. These include preaching,⁷⁰ prayer, communion, music and informal fellowship. Preaching and prayer express the vertical dimensions of worship as God speaks to his people and they to him. Communion and fellowship,⁷¹ articulate our horizontal relationships with one another. Music is a curious admixture of both, since Christians sing praises to God and in so doing exhort and encourage one another. This commonality of practice means that when the whole church gathers together, crossing congregational divides, there is a common vocabulary of worship, without which unity in worship would not be possible.

Of the three weekly services, only the evening service has a formal program for evangelism. This is a semi-annual event, well publicised and promoted, where members of the congregation are encouraged to invite non-Christian family, friends and colleagues. The language employed by those who lead is divested of theological ‘in’ language – or, at least, such language is carefully explained when used. Preachers are carefully selected on the basis of their gifting for evangelism, often involving the invitation of a guest preacher and the occasional guest band. Special effort is made to include fellowship over a meal and opportunity before and after the service for non-Christians to interact with the community of Christians. The service is otherwise identical to any other week, based on the belief that what you win people with is what you win them to and thus making the transition to an ‘ordinary’ service an easy one to make.⁷² This is not to suggest that evangelism doesn’t occur in the other weekly services, for it certainly does. There are teams devoted to welcoming visitors and helping them to establish relationship with church members. Prayers are offered for events of significance to the local, national and global communities. Leaders are instructed to use inclusive language and preachers consistently preach the gospel in the context of their didactic and exhortational ministry. Visitors go away knowing that this church worships God, proclaims Christ, and cares for each other, for the community and for them.

The origins of the practice of Christians gathering to worship are found in the character and action of the triune God. God acts and Christians respond. The earliest believers were influenced in this response by the practices, traditions and teachings of Old Testament Israel, the Jewish synagogue and pagan religions. Some of these practices were accepted, some rejected, and some redeemed and reinterpreted. Christian gathered worship also bears eschatological origins, with the Christian assembly foreshadowing the heavenly assembly. One must look both backwards and forwards in time to understand the origins of Christian worship. Christians gather for worship for the purpose of expressing and defining relationships. Christians must also look ‘up’, and relate to God as his covenant people. Finally, they must look ‘around’ and ‘out’ as they actualise Christ to one another and to the world.

Bibliography

An Australian Prayer Book : For Use Together with the Book of Common Prayer, 1662. Sydney: Church of England in Australia, 1978.
Ashton, Mark, and C. J. Davis. “Following in Cranmer’s Footsteps.” In Worship by the Book, edited by D. A. Carson, 64-135. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 2002.
Best, Harold M. Unceasing Worship : Biblical Perspectives on Worship and the Arts. Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2003.
Carson, D. A. “Worship under the Word.” In Worship by the Book, edited by D. A. Carson, 11-63. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 2002.
Dawn, Marva J. A Royal “Waste” Of Time : The Splendor of Worshiping God and Being Church for the World. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub., 1999.
———. Reaching out without Dumbing Down : A Theoloy of Worship for This Urgent Time. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub., 1995.
Gillard, Richard. “The Servant Song.” In Scripture in Song : Songs of the Kingdom (Bk. 2), edited by David and Dale Garratt, 51. Eastbourne: Kingsway, 1981.
Green, Michael. Baptism : Its Purpose, Practice and Power. Bletchley, Milton Keynes: Authentic Media, 2006.
Hughes, R. Kent. Disciplines of a Godly Man. 10th anniversary ed. Wheaton, Ill.: Crossway Books, 2001.
———. “Free Church Worship : The Challenge of Freedom.” In Worship by the Book, edited by D. A. Carson, 136-92. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 2002.
Hurtado, Larry W. At the Origins of Christian Worship : The Context and Character of Earliest Christian Devotion, Didsbury Lectures. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2000.
Kauflin, Bob. Worship Matters : Leading Others to Encounter the Greatness of God. Wheaton, Ill.: Crossway Books, 2008.
Keller, Timothy J. “Reformed Worship in the Global City.” In Worship by the Book, edited by D. A. Carson, 193-249. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 2002.
Kreider, Eleanor. Communion Shapes Character. Scottdale, Pa.: Herald Press, 1997.
Lewis, C. S. Mere Christianity. Special centenary ed. London: Fount, 1997.
———. The Screwtape Letters : Also Includes, “Screwtape Proposes a Toast”. London: HarperCollins, 2001.
Martin, Ralph P. “Hymns in New Testament Worship.” In The Biblical Foundations of Christian Worship, edited by Robert Webber, 257-62. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 1993.
Peterson, David. Engaging with God : A Biblical Theology of Worship. Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 1992.
Peterson, Eugene H. Eat This Book : A Conversation in the Art of Spiritual Reading. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub. Co., 2006.
Piper, John. Desiring God : Meditations of a Christian Hedonist. Updated [i.e. 3rd] ed. Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 2004.
Schaff, Philip. The Creeds of Christendom. 6th ed. 3 vols: Baker Books, 2007.
The Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church According to the Use of the Church of England Together with the Psalter, Etc. Cambridge: University Press, 1922.
Webber, Robert. Ancient-Future Worship : Proclaiming and Enacting God’s Narrative, Ancient-Future Series. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Books, 2008.
———. Worship Is a Verb : Eight Principles Transforming Worship. 2nd ed. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 1996.
———. Worship Old & New : A Biblical, Historical, and Practical Introduction. Rev. ed. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1994.
Wright, N. T. The New Testament and the People of God SPCK, 1992.

Endnotes

1. cf. Exod 4:23; 7:16 etc.
2. cf. Gal 4:5
3. cf. Rom 2:29; Eph 4:4.
4. John Piper, Desiring God : Meditations of a Christian Hedonist, Updated [i.e. 3rd] ed. (Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 2004), 82.
5. In some ways the community within the Trinity may be considered a model for the Christian gathering. cf. Harold M. Best, Unceasing Worship : Biblical Perspectives on Worship and the Arts (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2003), 24.
6. cf. Robert Webber, who refers to the Exodus as ‘the epicenter for worship with Israel’, Robert Webber, Worship Old & New : A Biblical, Historical, and Practical Introduction, Rev. ed. (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1994), 31.
7. David Peterson, Engaging with God : A Biblical Theology of Worship (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 1992), 125.
8. Eleanor Kreider, Communion Shapes Character (Scottdale, Pa.: Herald Press, 1997), 201.
9. Peterson, Engaging with God, 121.
10. cf. John 6:35
11. cf. 1 Cor 10:16. The cup is somewhat of a paradox, since the cup itself is a symbol of suffering (e.g. Matt 26:42) whilst wine is typically a sign of blessing (e.g. John 2:1-11).
12. Webber, Worship Old & New, 42.
13. Ibid., 20.
14. Peterson, Engaging with God, 49.
15. Ibid., 34. This mediation is distinct from the OT cultus; it is Moses the mediator rather than Aaron the priest in view here.
16. cf. Num 12:8
17. cf. Heb 10:22
18. cf. Gal 3:19-20; 1 Tim 2:5; Heb 9:15; 12:24
19. N. T. Wright, The New Testament and the People of God (SPCK, 1992), 363-4.
20. e.g. Acts 2:46; 3:1; 5:21, 42 etc.
21. e.g. Rom 9:4; 1 Cor 3:16-17; 6:19; 2 Cor 6:16; Eph 2:21; 1 Pet 2:5
22. e.g. Heb 3:2-6; 10:21; 12:23; cf. Peterson, Engaging with God, 247. In spite of this, concepts of physicality of place (church buildings), rituals and ministers would all resurface later in ecclesiastical history. cf. Webber, Worship Old & New, 35.
23. Ibid., 112-3.
24. i.e. the shema of Deut 6:4-9
25. Webber, Worship Old & New, 37. The latter is likely founded on the events recorded in Nehemiah 8, where the people gathered to hear Ezra read from the Book of the Law of God, and finds direct parallels in the Christian Service of the Word. Peterson, Engaging with God, 198.
26. e.g. Compare the blessings over bread and wine prescribed in m. Ber. 6 with Jesus’ blessings at the Last Supper (Matt 26:26-27; Mark 14:22-23; Luke 22:19-20) and early church practice (1 Cor 11:24-25; Justin, 1 Apol. 66). The later Didache (ca. 2nd c.) shows that what was initially descriptive had by this time become prescriptive (Did. 9-10). cf. Kreider, Communion Shapes Character, 165.
27. Ralph P. Martin, “Hymns in New Testament Worship,” in The Biblical Foundations of Christian Worship, ed. Robert Webber, The Complete Library of Christian Worship (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 1993), 258.
28. e.g. Acts 2:42; 1 Cor 11:17-34; Ign. Eph. 13; Justin 1 Apol. 65-67; Ireneaus Haer. 1:10; 3:4; 4:33 etc. See also possible credal fragments in the NT e.g. 1 Cor 8:6; 15:3-8; Phil 2:6-11; 1 Tim 3:16; Heb 6:1-2 etc. cf. Philip Schaff, The Creeds of Christendom, 6th ed., 3 vols. (Baker Books, 2007), 2:3-40.
29. Webber, Worship Old & New, 58.
30. Or, perhaps more accurately, revolution.
31. Larry W. Hurtado, At the Origins of Christian Worship : The Context and Character of Earliest Christian Devotion, Didsbury Lectures (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2000), 23.
32. Martin, “Hymns in New Testament Worship,” 259.
33. Gk. leitourgia.
34. Eugene H. Peterson, Eat This Book : A Conversation in the Art of Spiritual Reading (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub. Co., 2006), 75.
35. Hurtado, At the Origins of Christian Worship, 17, 63ff.
36. Martin, “Hymns in New Testament Worship,” 260.
37. Webber, Worship Old & New, 106.
38. Peterson, Engaging with God, 124. cf. 1 Cor 8-10.
39. Ibid., 205, 77-78.
40. Robert Webber, Ancient-Future Worship : Proclaiming and Enacting God’s Narrative, Ancient-Future Series (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Books, 2008), 57-58.
41. Peterson, Engaging with God, 144.
42. Ibid., 100-01. cf. John 6:51.
43. Bob Kauflin, Worship Matters : Leading Others to Encounter the Greatness of God (Wheaton, Ill.: Crossway Books, 2008), 197.
44. cf. Ign. Eph. 13.
45. Peterson, Engaging with God, 198. cf. Timothy J. Keller, “Reformed Worship in the Global City,” in Worship by the Book, ed. D. A. Carson (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 2002), 210.
46. Michael Green, Baptism : Its Purpose, Practice and Power (Bletchley, Milton Keynes: Authentic Media, 2006), 29. cf. Webber, Worship Old & New, 230.
47. cf. Ibid., 60. and Green, Baptism, 31f.
48. James Torrance, cited by D. A. Carson, “Worship under the Word,” in Worship by the Book, ed. D. A. Carson (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 2002), 42-3.
49. cf. Ign. Phld. 4.
50. Best, Unceasing Worship : Biblical Perspectives on Worship and the Arts, 143ff. Best argues that this is because ‘The human voice is the only musical instrument that God has directly created’ and that people can engage together in congregational singing regardless of talent or training.
51. R. Kent Hughes, Disciplines of a Godly Man, 10th anniversary ed. (Wheaton, Ill.: Crossway Books, 2001), 174.
52. Gk. oikodomeō.
53. e.g. 1 Cor 14:4, 17; 1 Thess 5:11. Peterson, Engaging with God, 206.
54. cf. C. S. Lewis, who writes that ‘[Jesus] works on us in all sorts of ways… through Nature, through our own bodies, through books, sometimes through experiences which seem (at the time) anti-Christian… But above all, He works on us through each other.’ C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, Special centenary ed. (London: Fount, 1997), 157.
55. Richard Gillard, “The Servant Song,” in Scripture in Song : Songs of the Kingdom (Bk. 2), ed. David and Dale Garratt (Eastbourne: Kingsway, 1981).
56. Peterson, Engaging with God, 220.
57. R. Kent Hughes, “Free Church Worship : The Challenge of Freedom,” in Worship by the Book, ed. D. A. Carson (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 2002), 142. cf. Hurtado, At the Origins of Christian Worship, 49.
58. Wright, The New Testament and the People of God, 368.
59. cf. Marva J. Dawn, A Royal “Waste” Of Time : The Splendor of Worshiping God and Being Church for the World (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub., 1999), 22ff.
60. Peterson, Engaging with God, 268.
61. Dawn, A Royal “Waste” Of Time, 89ff.
62. Webber, Ancient-Future Worship, 43.
63. The Book of Common Prayer and Administration of the Sacraments and Other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church According to the Use of the Church of England Together with the Psalter, Etc, (Cambridge: University Press, 1922).
64. An Australian Prayer Book : For Use Together with the Book of Common Prayer, 1662, (Sydney: Church of England in Australia, 1978). See especially the Preface, which outlines the relationship with The Book of Common Prayer, Ibid., 7.
65. The Book of Common Prayer, viii-ix. cf. An Australian Prayer Book, 7.
66. The third aim (not quoted above), that of ‘cutting off occasion from them that seek occasion of cavil or quarrel against the Liturgy of the Church’ (The Book of Common Prayer, ix.), is rooted in the historical circumstances in which The Book of Common Prayer was forged. Nevertheless, it shows a concern for the way the church is perceived and responded to by ‘outsiders’, even if those outsiders were other Christians.
67. e.g. ‘[W]hereas Saint Paul would have such language spoken to the people in the Church, as they might understand, and have profit by hearing the same; The Service in this Church of England these many years hath been read in Latin to the people, which they understand not… here is set forth such an Order, whereby the same shall be addressed’ (Ibid., xi.). cf. Ashton and Davis, who write that the criteria for planning worship in Cranmer’s tradition are, in order (1) biblical content; (2) accessibility; and (3) balance. Mark Ashton and C. J. Davis, “Following in Cranmer’s Footsteps,” in Worship by the Book, ed. D. A. Carson (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 2002), 82ff.
68. cf. Robert Webber, Worship Is a Verb : Eight Principles Transforming Worship, 2nd ed. (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 1996), 129ff. Webber argues passionately that worship needs to be ‘returned to the people’, although his vision for this is more than just lay leadership extending also to cover congregational participation.
69. Marva J. Dawn, Reaching out without Dumbing Down : A Theoloy of Worship for This Urgent Time (Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub., 1995), 41ff. and Dawn, A Royal “Waste” Of Time, 88ff. Dawn maintains that the worshipping community needs to innoculate us against secular worldviews, particularly consumerism. cf. Lewis, whose demonic character Screwtape writes to his nephew, ‘Surely you know that if a man can’t be cured of churchgoing, the next best thing is to send him all over the neighbourhood looking for the church that ‘suits’ him until he becomes a taster or connoisseur of churches… the search for a ‘suitable’ church makes the man a critic where the Enemy [i.e. God] wants him to be a pupil.’ C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters : Also Includes, “Screwtape Proposes a Toast” (London: HarperCollins, 2001), 81.
70. Even the content of preaching across the two morning services is consistent, with the same preacher preaching on the same topic at each. The evening service usually follows its own independent program of preaching. Sadly, this does not foster church-wide community as well as might be the case if the preaching was uniform across all three services. The decision to have separate ‘streams’ of preaching is based on the ‘needs’ of a younger congregation in the evening, so church-wide unity is traded off in favour of more focused and directed discipleship.
71. Usually in the form of coffee and food after the service.
72. Kauflin, Worship Matters, 192.

Question

How does an understanding of miracles as a limited foretaste of the consummated kingdom help us in approaching the question of miracles today? Should we expect similar miraculous occurrences today as are recorded in the NT? At a practical level, how should we go about dealing with sickness and other personal needs in our congregations?

Abstract

Miracles are a dividing issue for Christians and non-Christians alike. This essay will show that this is as it should be, since they are intended to provoke a response; that a concentration of miracles around the apostles does not mean that they are limited to the apostolic age; but that the Christian is to respond prayerfully, rather than powerfully, when facing needs of all kinds.

Essay

Miracles are inextricably linked with Christianity. Ask the man on the street what he knows of Jesus and he will likely describe one of two things: Jesus the Great Moral Teacher; or Jesus the Miracle Worker. Their motives and attitudes in doing so are many, across the entire spectrum from awe to skepticism. Opinions amongst Christians are scarcely less diverse. Most will agree that Jesus worked miracles himself, although that opinion is not universally held, even amongst Christians.¹ Where the most substantial divergences of opinion occur, however, is in how we are to understand the significance of scriptural miracles in general and Jesus’ miracles in particular. Should Christians aspire to emulate this aspect of Jesus’ ministry? The question is not idle for, particularly in the case of healing miracles, the stakes are high; it is literally a question of life or death. To begin to answer this question, we must carefully consider the rôle miracles played in Jesus’ ministry.
Jesus declares his mission at the commencement of his ministry (Luke 4:16ff.), quoting from Isaiah 61:1-3:

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the LORD has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to provide for all those who mourn in Zion – to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.

This is a messianic prophecy, and Jesus here proclaims himself as God’s Messiah. ‘Then he began to say to them. “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”‘ (Luke 4:21). His listeners cannot have missed the royal implications of his statement; the Kingdom of God is ready to be inaugurated, the LORD’s favour is to be proclaimed; and miracles are the signposts that it is near. As Wayne Grudem (1994, 360) writes, the miracles of Jesus serve to ‘bear witness that the kingdom of God has come and has begun to expand its beneficial results into people’s lives’.

Saucy (1996) points out that Jesus seeks more than establishing the fact of the presence of the inaugurated kingdom. It is response that he desires, and Jesus’ teachings and works, including his miraculous works, are all geared towards eliciting a response. Thus it is no surprise that miracles form a point of divergence for Christians and non-Christians alike.
Wallis (1992) refines this: miracles free people to respond to God. This expectation of response is seen most clearly in Matthew 11:

Then [Jesus] began to reproach the cities in which most of his deeds of power had been done, because they did not repent. (Matt. 11:20).

John the Baptiser was the first to proclaim Jesus as Christ (John 1:29); later, in prison and facing death, John sends messengers to Jesus for confirmation that he was not mistaken (Matt. 11:2-6). To answer, Jesus points to his works: ‘the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them’ (11:5) – referring to another messianic prophecy in Isaiah 35:5-6.
At least some portion of Jesus’ ministry, then, is a function of his unique identity as the Christ. But how much is unique, and how much is exemplary? Should Christians today seek to emulate Christ’s miraculous acts, or are they to follow another way? Were Jesus’ acts the works of incarnate God, or are they the works of Spirit-filled man?

For Warrington (2000), the answer is clear cut: Jesus’ miracles, and particularly his healings, ‘are uniquely linked to his mission to initiate the Kingdom’ and thus ‘it is difficult to see how believers today may emulate him’. Williams (1993) goes the other way, arguing from Luke 6:40 that Jesus trained his disciples to do as he did. ‘If Jesus trained His disciples to reproduce His message and ministry of the kingdom, then we should expect that they, in turn, were to train the Church to do the same.’

Unfortunately, Jesus does not provide us clear and explicit teaching on the difference between the unique and exemplary components of his works, nor does he offer us nice neat categories in which to understand his actions. We may, however, learn much from the commandments given to his disciples, and the example they set for the church that followed them.

In Luke 10, parallel to the passage we have just considered from Matthew 11, the judgment on the unrepentant cities is offered immediately following the successful mission of the 72, where the acts of power were done not by Jesus himself but by his disciples. Similarly, in the miracles of feeding the 5000 (Matt. 14:15-21; Mark 6:35-44; Luke 9:12-17; John 6:4-13), it is entirely possible that the multiplications took place in the disciples hands rather than in Jesus’. One must be wary of appropriating a mission not one’s own, particularly if unwilling to be subject to the same restrictions imposed on that mission, such as not going to the Gentiles or the Samaritans (Matt. 10:5) and not taking a bag (Luke  10:4) etc. (Carson 1992). Nevertheless, the impetus is clear: ‘proclaim the kingdom of God and… heal’ (Luke 9:2). The kingdom of God is here, and this is what it looks like.

John Wimber, in his influential work Power Evangelism (1985), seizes upon this idea. His reasoning is that the Kingdom is still here, and is still to be demonstrated. Many of the miracles recorded in Scripture, he suggests, have the effect of freeing people to respond to the gospel; he calls these events ‘power encounters’. Examples from the gospels include Jesus’ interaction with the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4) and his numerous exorcisms (Matt. 8:28ff.; Matt. 9:32ff.; Mark 1:21ff. etc.). Wimber seems more interested, however, in the ‘power encounters’ found in Acts, which he considers to be normative for Christian experience. In Acts ‘we see the birth of a warrior nation, the army of God, the church’ (Wimber 1985, 134). The inauguration of God’s Kingdom brings it into conflict with the powers and principalities of the earthly kingdom. Though the decisive battle has been fought and won by Christ, the war rages on to this day.²

James Montgomery Boice, in his critique of Wimber’s teachings, notes that any Christian reader of Ephesians 6 cannot help but acknowledge the truth of spiritual warfare.
However, we will also remember that Ephesians 6 does not promote miracle-working as the way to do battle against Satan but instead admonishes us to be clothed with Christ’s righteousness and to be armed with “the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God” (v. 17). The Spirit’s weapon, therefore, is not additional revelation, nor “power encounters,” but the written text of Holy Scripture. We are constantly reminded that the way to defend ourselves against Satan’s onslaught is not by miracles but by the effective proclamation and teaching of Scripture. (Boice 1992, 123)

According to Boice, Wimber’s writings demonstrate a serious shortcoming: they make much of the church working ‘signs and wonders’ and no mention of the gospel. It is ‘an evangelism without an evangel’ (129).

Aside from this issue, Boice’s primary criticism of the so-called ‘signs and wonders’ movement is that they appropriate the ‘signs of the apostle’ (Acts 2:43; Acts 5:12; 2 Cor. 12:12) for themselves. This is, in his view, an unwarranted hermeneutical leap as the apostles played a unique rôle in testifying to the risen Jesus and establishing the church. Boice is not the only one to draw this distinction; Warfield ([1918] 1972), Woodhouse (1987) and Carson (1992) are all in agreement with Boice on this point. This is not to say they teach a full cessation of genuine miracles after the apostles, but rather that the authority granted the apostles for miraculous signs and wonders is not transferable to their heirs. ‘We believe in a wonder-working God; but not in a wonder-working church.’ (Warfield [1918] 1972, 58)

Wayne Grudem (1994) argues strongly against this teaching. He outlines the scriptural evidence for limiting miracles to the apostle, claiming that the case rests primarily on two key texts: 2 Corinthians 12:12 and Hebrews 2:3-4. He then goes on to argue that, in 2 Corinthians 12, Paul is attempting to distinguish himself from non-Christian pretenders to the apostolic office, rather than non-apostolic Christians. Similarly, Grudem discounts arguments from Hebrews 2 as drawing more from the passage than is actually there. Even if it can be understood to mean that God confirms by miracles the words of those who heard Jesus, it says nothing of whether or not God will do likewise for those who have not directly heard him. Just because there is a particular concentration of miracles surrounding the apostles does not necessarily imply that they are only for the apostles.

Thus far we have considered miracles only on an a priori basis, but some adopt an a posteriori line of reasoning. Wimber (1985, 151-174), for example, furnishes us with a list of miracles attested throughout the history of the church, as well as a separate list for miracles of the 20th century. His implicit argument is that we should start with the fact that miracles in a Christian context occur today and we therefore should read and interpret Scripture in the light of this reality.

In a similar vein, Wenham (1986) notes the ebb and flow of miracles throughout the Old Testament, with peaks at the times of Moses, Elijah & Elisha, and a relative scarcity at other times. He sees a similar trend in the New Covenantal era, with miracles clustered around fresh movements of God’s Spirit in what are often termed ‘revivals’.

Contrast these with Warfield ([1918] 1972), who provides a more detailed list, drawn from much the same material, yet with vastly different conclusions. His stated argument is that there are few well-attested miracles in the 1st century; that those of the 2nd and 3rd centuries are syncretistic adoptions of heathen aretalogy; and that most, if not all, subsequent accounts of miracles are suspect as fiction legitimised by tradition. Clearly all three authors have their own agendas, and each claims historical evidence in his argument. Such an approach then is fraught with difficulty.

Even should one be able to establish beyond all doubt that genuine miracles have or have not occurred since the apostolic age, the application to the subject at hand must be carefully considered. Miracles have no intrinsic meaning; they are given meaning by the words that accompany them. Jesus warned that many would come working miracles in his name in an effort to deceive the elect (Matt. 24:24), and people on both sides of some of the most crucial theological divides claim miracles as vindication of their cause. As Warfield puts it, ‘heretics of all ages are at least as well provided with supporting miracles as the church itself’ ([1918] 1972, 67).³

We may summarise our findings thus far as follows: Jesus worked miracles, as attested by the canonical gospels, but there is doubt as to what proportion of his miraculous acts are paradigmatic for today’s Christians. Instead we look to the example and teaching of his disciples, who worked miraculously in the regular course of their ministry. Whilst noting the unique rôle of the apostles in establishing the church, there is no compelling reason to suppose that their miraculous works were done solely for this purpose, nor that they were intrinsically tied to their office as apostles. Thus we may rightly expect miracles today, as a foretaste of the Kingdom of God.

But how much of God’s Kingdom should we expect to see manifest here on earth today? Casual readers of James 5:13-18 may be forgiven for believing that all illness and disease should be overcome through the simple expedients of confession, prayer and anointing. How then are we to reconcile this with our experience of suffering and death even amongst the most faithful of Christians?

‘Are any among you sick? They should call the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord.’ (James 5:14). Kendall (2002, 288) rightly points out that the context is members of a church; this is not a mandate for us to go out and heal people in the street. Furthermore, he argues, the sickness described must be serious⁴, and the initiative lies with the person who is sick to call the elders; the elders are not instructed here to wander around the church looking for aches and sniffles to heal.

Kendall goes on to explore the link James draws between sickness and sin, noting that whilst sin is not always the cause of illness, sometimes it is (2002, 287). God does this for disciplinary rather than punitive reasons (Dickson 2006, 111-2). For this reason, it is one’s own elders to be called when sick, as they are the best suited for enquiring about sin and facilitating repentance (Shogren 1989).

What of the oil? It has been variously understood to represent: the medicine of the day; the Sacrament of Extreme Unction; a Psychological Reinforcement, i.e. a placebo; and a symbol of divine favour (Shogren 1989). Shogren, Kendall and Dickson all find agreement on the latter, with Kendall arguing that the oil performs the same symbolic function as the bread and the wine of the eucharist: ‘It’s a visual, tangible reminder of the Spirit and his power to heal’ (2002, 292).

James continues: ‘The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to one another, so that you may be healed. The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective’ (James 5:15-6). Prayer is key in James’ thinking. It is prayer that saves, rather than elders, oils or even faith. Kendall puts is aptly when he writes: ‘The prayer of faith takes place… when there is a simultaneous coinciding of the believer’s faith and God’s will’ (2002, 299).
As yet, we have only a limited foretaste of the Kingdom of God; we must live, act and teach accordingly. As Wallis (1992) writes,

if we stress the in-breaking of the kingdom in Jesus’s ministry, we raise hopes that freedom from suffering and healing will be experienced now; but if we offer the cross as the controlling symbol for Christian discipleship, we encourage the view that suffering is a necessary – if unpleasant – travelling companion through this life.

Reference List

Boice, J. M. 1992, “A Better Way: The Power of the Word and Spirit”, in M. S. Horton (ed.), Power Religion: The selling out of the evangelical church?, Homebush West: Anzea, 119-136.

Carson, D. A. 1992, “The purpose of signs and wonders in the New Testament”, in M. S. Horton (ed.), Power Religion: The selling out of the evangelical church?, Homebush West: Anzea, 89-118.

Dickson, J. 2006, James: The wisdom of the brother of Jesus, Sydney: Aquila.

Grudem, W. 1994, Systematic Theology, Nottingham: IVP, 355-375.

Kendall, R. T. 2002, The Way of Wisdom, Waynesboro: Authentic Media, 285-319.

Saucy, M. R. 1996, “Miracles and Jesus’ proclamation of the Kingdom of God,” Bibliotheca Sacra, 153 (July-Sept 1996), 281-357.

Shogren, G. S. 1989, “Will God Heal Us – A Re-examination of James 5:14-16a”, EQ, 61/2 (1989), 99-108.

Wallis, I. G. 1992, “Christ’s continuing ministry of healing”, Expository Times, 104/3 (Nov 1992), 42-45.

Warfield, B. B. 1972, Counterfeit Miracles, London: Banner of Truth (first ed. 1918).

Warrington, K. 2000, Jesus the Healer: Paradigm or Unique Phenomenon? Carlisle: Paternoster Press, 1-29.

Wenham, D. 1986, “Miracles Then and Now”, Themelios 12/1, 1-4.

Williams, D. 1993, “Following Christ’s example: a biblical view of discipleship”, in  G.S. Greig & K. N. Springer (eds.), The Kingdom and the Power: are healing and the spiritual gifts used by Jesus and the Early Church meant for the church today?, Ventura: Regal, 175-196.

Wimber, J. & Springer, K. 1985, Power Evangelism: Signs and Wonders Today, London: Hodder & Stoughton.

Woodhouse, J. 1987, “Signs and Wonders and Evangelical Ministry” in R. Doyle (ed.) Signs & Wonders and Evangelicals, Homebush West: Lancer.

Bibliography

Adamson, J. B 1976, The Epistle of James, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 196-202.

Brown, C. 1985, That You May Believe: Miracles and Faith Then and Now, Grand Rapids/Exeter: Eerdmans/Paternoster, 151-175.

Johnson, B. 2005, The Supernatural Power of a Transformed Mind: Access to a Life of Miracles, Shippenburg: Destiny Image.

Lewis, C. S. 2002, Miracles, London: HarperCollins.

Marshall, C. D. 1992, “Ghostbusters – Then and Now”, Reaper, 74/5 (Oct-Nov, 1992),14-16.

Motyer, A. 1985, The Message of James, 2nd ed., Leicester: IVP, 186-214.

Endnotes

1. The Jesus Seminar, for instance, discounts the majority of Jesus’ miracles recorded in the canonical gospels, including his resurrection, as fanciful interpolations by later editors.
2. Wimber uses an helpful illustration here, borrowed from German theologian Oscar Cullman. The turning point in World War II was D-Day, when troops landed on the shore of Normandy, but peace was not declared until V-E Day, some 11 months later. We live, he says, in the time between Christ’s decisive victory on the Cross (D-Day), and his parousia (V-E Day) – and there are still battles to be fought. ibid., 33.
3. This, in large part, appears to be the motivator behind Warfield’s animosity towards what he calls ‘ecclesiastical miracles’. He is implicitly fighting the Roman Catholic assertion that God vindicates the Roman church over against the protestant church through provision of miracles.
4. He argues this based on James’ choice of sōzō (I save) rather than therpeuō or iaomai (I heal) in verse 15.