John William Colenso’s Commentary on Romans, written during his time as Bishop of Natal and published in 1861, remains neglected in the field of New Testament studies, as does Colenso’s work more generally, despite some notable recent attention. The commentary is, however, of considerable interest. It displays some significant similarities with the much later New Perspective on Paul, and offers an early example of a participationist reading of Paul, seen through the lens of Colenso’s inclusive and universalist theology. It also shares some of the problems of the New Perspective, particularly in terms of its critique of Judaism. The commentary is also significant and relevant to current debates about decolonisation, because of the ways in which the African context shaped Colenso’s reading of the letter and because of the powerful critique of (English) ethnic and (Christian) religious superiority that Colenso finds in Romans.

The goal of this article is to explain two words which commentators often find puzzling – Paul’s εἴ πως, which hesitantly qualify his expectation of resurrection in Phil 3.11. After considering the semantics of εἴ πως, and various scholarly interpretations of this verse, this article will propose what is very much currently a minority view, and will offer further evidence for it. The explanation for Paul’s εἴ πως καταντήσω εἰς τὴν ἐξανάστασιν τὴν ἐκ νεκρῶν in Phil 3.11 is to be found in his uncertainty about whether he will die and be raised, or whether he will survive until the parousia. The clause also indicates his preference for the former.

Scholars of the New Testament are, first and foremost, textual and literary scholars – philologists of religious texts charged with the hermeneutical task of interpreting documents from a distant ancient world.2 At its core, our task is to engage these texts in full length, in their entirety, attending to all of their philological and literary complexity. Careful study of the compositional and stylistic features of the Greek text of Mark’s Gospel as narrative opens up new questions in our field of study. In this presentation, I shall attend more specifically to the use of direct speech by the main character, Jesus, addressed to his disciples.

Based on recent theoretical reflections on the links between space and rituals, this paper re-examines early Christian meal practice. Since the 1980s, many scholars have agreed that early Christ groups met in private houses inside a given city and celebrated their meals in the form of the Greco-Roman banquet. However, the idea that early Christ groups met ‘almost exclusively’ in private houses has been disputed in recent years. This paper expands on one of the suggested alternative meeting spaces: the graveyard. Tombs of the rich and poor lined the roads running in and out of an ancient city. The tradition handed down by Paul and the Synoptic Gospels (1 Cor 11.23–5/Mark 14.22–4 par.) can be located here. It contains a story fragment linked in form and content to laments that might have been part of a dramatically narrated passion account with a subsequent mortuary meal. This shows how spatial contextualisation can expand the reconstruction of the diversity of early Christian meal celebrations.

This article explores how the unsettled meaning of the Sabbath in ancient Christian culture shaped the transmission of the Letter of the Hebrews by Christian editors and copyists. The textual variants in question occur toward the end of a complex literary unit (Heb 3.1–4.11) in which the author elaborates on the concept of ‘rest’, culminating in an appeal to the term σαββατισμός (Heb 4.9). After examining how the term σαββατισμός functions in its immediate context, the article turns to textual variants in various Greek and Latin manuscripts (including Codex Sinaiticus, Codex Claromontanus, Codex Vaticanus and several medieval witnesses), situating them within broader late ancient debates about Sabbath meaning and observance, and more specifically within discourse that employs the text of Heb 4.9.

George H. van Kooten has recently argued that Paul’s use of ‘from him/whom’ language with reference to God the father in Romans 11.36 and 1 Corinthians 8.6, in light of the semi-technical use of this prepositional formula in the Greek metaphysical traditions, indicates that God/the father is a material cause. And this coheres, so van Kooten further argues, with other indications that Paul’s metaphysic is fundamentally Stoic. This article focuses on van Kooten’s claim that Paul’s use of ‘from him/whom’ language with reference to God the father indicates that the latter is, for Paul, a material cause. In this regard, van Kooten has mistranslated and misconstrued key data both in the ancient metaphysical traditions and in Paul and also committed the genealogical fallacy: taking individual lexemes, formulas and/or tropes to suggest that the entire metaphysical construct of one of the earlier philosophical schools (in this case, Stoicism) from which they derive should wholly govern their interpretation in a much later and different text.

According to David M. Moffitt, Passover themes permeate Hebrews 1–2. While Passover is normally understood to be apotropaic, Jesus’ death in 2.14–15 defeats the devil. How is this defeat achieved? This article proposes that this victory is a synthesis of several strands of Jewish and early Christian tradition, conflating traditions about Jesus’ paschal death and war against demonic evil. This conflation likely reflects contemporary Jewish beliefs about angels. In Second Temple literature, Michael, Melchizedek and the heavenly hosts fight against demonic forces opposed to God. In Hebrews, the Passover typologically foreshadows the liberating work of Christ, with the devil taking the place of Pharaoh and the realm of the dead as Egypt, the place of bondage. Just as Moses leads the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, so does Christ liberate the dead from death and slavery to the devil through his complete experience of human death and his triumphant resurrection. This article therefore suggests that Hebrews contains early evidence for Christian belief in the descensus Christi and the harrowing of Hades, conceived as a new exodus from the bondage of death to heavenly glory. Therefore, when Christ rises from the dead, he does not do so alone, but rises as the first of those liberated from death, providing new significance to the quotation of Isa 8.18 in Heb 2.13.

In the first part of the twentieth century, Henry Cadbury argued for the unity of Luke and Acts and made the phrase Luke-Acts a standard expression in scholarship. While there have always been challenges, in recent decades the number of these has increased. One area that has not been adequately explored is the study of how ancients produced multi-scroll works. This study analyses two practices using four examples for each: two Hellenistic and two Jewish. The first is the practice of composing secondary prefaces for the second and subsequent scrolls in multi-scroll works. The purpose of the secondary preface was to create a link between the scrolls. The second is the practice of releasing a scroll when it was completed before the full complement of scrolls for the work was composed and ready for circulation. This essay suggests that Acts 1.1–2 is a secondary preface that binds Acts to Luke and that there is a gap in time between the release of Luke and the release of Acts, which helps to explain both their differences and their independent circulation in the early church. It is not an argument about genre since these practices were common in various genres. It is an argument that Luke and Acts cannot be separated from one another without ignoring ancient conventions.*

Contra graecum, against the Greek, is a term used in the critical apparatus of the so-called Oxford Vulgate to indicate passages where individual manuscripts, early Christian authors or the entire Latin tradition present a text that differs from the Greek witnesses. This contribution discusses three ex-amples from 1 Corinthians (1 Cor 7.33–4, 15.5, 14.11). At 1 Cor 7.33–4, verse divisions have varied ever since the first printed New Testament with modern verse numbers (Estienne 1551). This is partly due to the different interpretations of the verb μεμέρισται either as masculine or feminine. The difference is discussed already in early Christian authors, with Jerome finding meaning in both despite a preference for the masculine form. In 1 Cor 15.5, the number of people to whom Christ appeared differs, with ‘twelve’ in Greek and ‘eleven’ in Latin. Only a few Greek witnesses read ‘eleven’, including bilingual codices (Claromontanus, Boernerianus and Augiensis). Again, the difference was discussed already by early Christian authors, with Augustine finding meaning in both numbers. In 1 Cor 14.11, the Greek text identifies both the speaker and the listener as unintelligible ‘barbarians’ to each other. In contrast, the Latin text refers to two speakers, thus interpreting the passage strictly in the context of speaking in tongues (1 Cor 14.9, 13). The three examples from 1 Corinthians illustrate the main challenges of New Testament textual criticism, including those of contamination, coincidence of readings, incomplete transmission, and, in the case of bilingual manuscripts, mutual influence of readings.

Mark 2.21 uses unusual terminology in describing the ‘patch of an unfulled rag’ (ἐπίβλημα ῥάκους ἀγνάφου) as well as in relation to what happens when the patch subsequently fails (αἴρει τὸ πλήρωμα ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ τὸ καινὸν τοῦ παλαιοῦ καὶ χεῖρον σχίσμα γίνεται). While Matthew largely repeats Mark’s version verbatim (with only minor changes), Luke appears to make substantive changes to the ‘parable’. Several scholars have suggested that Luke lacked an understanding of the facts and rendered the situation entirely improbable. However, if one takes account of terminology associated with fulling processes in antiquity, recently illuminated by archaeologically grounded studies of ancient fulleries, Luke’s version emerges as a plausible interpretation of his predecessor’s and, in the other direction, certain interpretive possibilities in Mark’s account become legible.

Während die große Mehrheit der deutschsprachigen Exegetinnen und Exegeten den 2. Thessalonicherbrief als nachpaulinisch betrachtet, hält ihn eine ebenso große Mehrheit der englischsprachigen Fachleute für paulinisch. Wie konnte sich in einer historischen Frage, die alle Forscher anhand derselben Evidenz bearbeiten, ein so starker Dissens herausbilden? Warum verläuft dieser Dissens ziemlich genau entlang einer Sprachgrenze? Und warum haben die echtheitskritischen Urteile der deutsch- und der englischsprachigen Forschung sich einander nicht im Laufe der Zeit angenähert? Um diese Fragen zu beantworten, ist es zwar unverzichtbar, die einleitungswissenschaftliche Diskussion der letzten 200 Jahre zur Verfasserschaft des 2. Thessalonicherbriefs zu rekapitulieren; die forschungsgeschichtliche Nachzeichnung historischer Entwicklungen führt jedoch lediglich zu einer Teilantwort. Die Beantwortung der Frage nach den Ursachen für den stabilen Dissens erfordert eine interdisziplinäre Perspektive, die nicht nur die hermeneutische Neuorientierung der römisch-katholischen Theologie im Zuge des Zweiten Vatikanischen Konzils berücksichtigt, sondern vor allem auch Erkenntnisse aus der Wissenschaftssoziologie. Die Hauptthesen der etablierten Analysemodelle von Ludwik Fleck (Entstehung und Entwicklung einer wissenschaftlichen Tatsache) und Thomas Kuhn (The Structure of Scientific Revolutions), die auf ihrer Auswertung naturwissenschaftlicher Forschungen basieren, gelten auch für die Bibelwissenschaften. Auch die bibelwissenschaftliche Forschung ist kein zweipoliges Geschehen zwischen den Fachleuten und ihrem Untersuchungsgegenstand, sondern wird durch deren wissenschaftliches Umfeld mitbestimmt. Mit anderen Worten: Englischsprachige Exegetinnen und Exegeten gehen nicht nur dahin, ‘wohin die Evidenz sie führt’, sondern auch dahin, wohin die Forschergemeinschaft sie führt, der sie angehören. Dasselbe gilt mit umgekehrten Vorzeichen für ihre deutschsprachigen Kolleginnen und Kollegen. Im Idealfall verschafft ein verstärktes Bewusstsein für die sozialen Zusammenhänge, die auch auf jeden deutsch- und englischsprachigen Bibelwissenschaftler einwirken, den historischen und exegetischen Argumenten im internationalen Dialog mehr Gewicht.

Against the near-universal consensus that it was created by a pagan (non-Christian) in order to satirise Christian worship, this article contends that the Alexamenos graffito can plausibly be read as a Christian self-parody, created by the enslaved Alexamenos himself. It is the first full-length treatment of the authorial origins of the Alexamenos graffito. The article first provides an overview of the visual and scholarly histories of the image since the nineteenth century. Then it addresses evidence for and against reading the text as non-Christian or Christian in origin, focusing on the apparent sexualisation of Jesus, early Christian receptions of satirical depictions of Jesus, the graffito’s use of a titulus, the solidarity of the image with enslaved workers and the relevance of nearby Christian graffiti. Finally, it places the graffito in conversation with ancient self-parody practices from wider Greek, Roman and Christian sources. While it is impossible to argue definitively about the identity of the graffito’s creator, this article contends that scholarship cannot exclude the possibility and potential likelihood that it may be Christian in origin.

Early Jewish parodies of ancient Mediterranean cult images have long been taken as a point of cat- egorical difference between Jews and non-Jews. The basic logic can be stated with maximal brevity: Jews were aniconic, indeed ‘anti-idolic’, while Greeks and Romans were iconic. When it comes to the question of so-called idolatry and Jewish polemics against it, Jews were ostensibly unique within the wider world of ancient Mediterranean religion. In this article, I interrogate such claims specifically as they relate to the apostle Paul, as one such Jewish polemicist, who wrote to a predominantly gentile audience well accustomed to image piety and sensitive to its internal politics. I argue that early Jewish image parodies, including Paul’s own, are better understood to be situated within an iconopolitical strategy of cultural production that was otherwise common among Greeks and Romans, no less than Jews. By caricaturing cult images as non-existent, disabled or dead, it is my contention that Paul operated within and innovated upon a widespread tradition of ancient Mediterranean image politics, which configured social power relations between humans and their gods by abducting, mutilating or destroying their images, and that Paul's parodies were intelligible and recognisable as such among his gentile followers. After outlining the comparative problems of ‘idolatry’, I draw from classical and art-historical scholarship to theorise the epiphanic and reciprocal dynamics of images in ancient Mediterranean religion, and then redescribe Jewish image parodies in Paul’s letters as operating within these same dynamics, even while polemicising against them.

This article argues that the statement in John 5.2, ‘There is (ἔστιν) in Jerusalem […] a pool […] which has five porticoes’, offers internal evidence for dating the Gospel prior to 70 ce, when Jerusalem was destroyed. Scholars usually discard the use of the present tense ‘is’ as a mere instance of the historic present, but this view is untenable, as I show by discussing the most recent grammatical studies concerning the historic present. Moreover, I argue that the formula ‘There is in …’ (ἔστιν δὲ ἐν) followed by a location (in the dative), with an architectural structure as the subject, is a formula that has been used since Herodotus’ time in geographic and topographic descriptions that assume the existence of this structure at the time of writing. I subsequently demonstrate that the colonnaded pool complex of Bethzatha had likely been destroyed and/or dismantled during the First Jewish Revolt, when the Bezetha area, where the pool was located, was twice destroyed and was also stripped bare of timber to construct the Roman earthworks that were thrown up against the walls of Jerusalem to help the Romans take the city. Archaeological reports on this neighbourhood confirm its desolation after 70 ce, and Eusebius’ description of the pool confirms the disappearance of its porticoes. Finally, I draw attention to the unanimous depiction of Jerusalem in Flavian and post-Flavian literature as a city entirely destroyed, burned down and reduced to ashes. This means that if the Gospel’s author describes the colonnaded Pool of Bethzatha as still standing, then the Gospel must have been written (and edited) prior to 70 ce.

Few historical claims in the canonical Gospels have excited such puzzlement and even derision among exegetes as Luke’s assertion that Jesus was born amid an Empire-wide census (Lk 2.1–2). Similar problems have bedevilled the interpretation of Acts 11.28–30, which describes a similarly unsubstantiated ‘great famine in all the world (λιμὸν μεγάλην…ἐφ᾽ ὅλην τὴν οἰκουμένην)’. This paper argues, following Charles Torrey’s earlier but neglected proposal, that in our Greek versions of these passages, πᾶσαν τὴν οἰκουμένην/ὅλην τὴν οἰκουμένην mistranslates the Hebrew, כל־הארץ and the Aramaic כלה ארעא, each of which could mean either ‘all the earth’ (Gen 1.26) or ‘all the land [of Israel]’ (as in Jos 2.24, 9.24, 1 Sam 13.3, 2 Sam 24.8, 2 Kgs 17.5, Isa 10.23, Jer 23.15, etc.).

In research literature and works of art, the textual gap of Mary’s bodily action, implicit in Jesus’ phrase μή μου ἅπτου (John 20.17b), is frequently filled either with a proskynesis or a standing embrace. Against the background of Judith Butler’s theory of gesture, this article analyses attempts at filling in the gaps in the text. The notion of gesture as bodily quotation helps to interpret Mary and Jesus not as counterparts, but as a performative unit enacting continuity and difference after Jesus’ death. The reading offered in this article focuses on the interaction between bodies, and it undermines the dichotomy between speech and body, man and woman, heaven and earth. This article examines exegetical interpretations of Mary’s gesture, alongside artistic interpretations, to show that the way the textual gap is filled is significant because gestures are significant.

The Latin translators of the New Testament often rendered the middle/passive verb διακρίνοµαι with words for doubt or indecision (haesito, dubito). However, in post-classical Greek, διακρίνοµαι never means ‘to doubt’. Earlier practitioners of a theologically driven philology supposed that the New Testament authors themselves created a new meaning for the word – an untenable position from the perspective of modern lexicography. How then did διακρίνοµαι become ‘doubt’? This article offers a two-pronged answer through literary-historical and cognitive linguistic analysis. First, I trace how the Greek words διακρίνοµαι and δίψυχος (‘double-minded’) became associated with the concept of ‘doubt’ through the Christian reception of the Jewish Two Ways tradition and the Letter of James. I show how the discursive connections between διακρίνοµαι, δίψυχος and ‘doubt’ (διστάζω) influenced the rendering of both terms within Coptic and Latin translation traditions. Second, I show how the same data can be analysed within a cognitive linguistic perspective, offering a model for lexicographical analysis that is grounded in modern linguistic theory.

This is a response to Fernando Bermejo-Rubio’s arguments that the original Testimonium Flavianum was a negative text. Bermejo-Rubio’s textual analysis ignores a great number of caveats and counterexamples that in the end render it far from certain or probable that the Testimonium Flavianum had a negative disposition towards Jesus. To the contrary, most of the terminology does not even appear to be problematic for a Christian scribe to interpolate. As a result, it is concluded that scholars are still stuck in the quagmire of attempting to arbitrate what is or is not authentic in the Testimonium Flavianum.

John refers to the φωστήρ of the New Jerusalem in Rev 21.11. This word is almost always translated by words like ‘radiance’ and ‘brilliance’, conveying the idea that φωστήρ is the glow that comes from the New Jerusalem as it reflects the glory of God. The author of this article proves, by means of careful exegesis, that the widely-attested normal meaning of φωστήρ in ancient Greek, ‘luminary’ or ‘light source’, is the only meaning justified by any known ancient text, including Rev 21.11, the two other texts alleged by lexicons to illustrate the meaning ‘radiance’ (1 Esdras 8.76 LXX and Anthologia Graeca 4.11, Epigram 359 line 7), and a few other extra-biblical instances of φωστήρ in which the meaning ‘radiance’ might conceivably be proposed. The author argues that a correct translation of Rev 21.11 leads to the conclusion that John intends his readers to be reminded of John’s vision of God on his throne in Rev 4.3, since in that verse he said that the Enthroned One appeared ‘like a jasper’, and in 21.11 he says that ‘her luminary [i.e. God] was like a precious stone, like a jasper stone’.

This article examines the function of the night burglar similes (1 Thess 5.2, 4) within the broader context of Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians. It aims to demonstrate that these similes are integral to Paul’s discourses on the Lord’s parousia (4.13–18) and the Lord’s Day (5.1–11) and argue that the similes serve as a thematic link between these narratives, creating a connection that aligns their timing and unfolding. Furthermore, the article examines the Lord’s parousia and Day, along with the associated events of dispossession and dislocation, as complementary aspects of a single eschatological event – bringing salvation to those in the light and disaster to those in darkness. The literary structure, rhetorical strategies, thematic elements and linguistic nuances of 1 Thess 4.13–5.11 support this interpretation, positioning the similes as integral components of the parousia and Day discourses. Additionally, the article reflects on the significance of the night burglar’s ‘loot’ and its connection to the Thessalonians as valuable vessels (4.4–5) and their need to don God’s armour (5.8).