Le premier paper que j'ai eu l'honneur de présenter à notre Société remonte au meeting de Norwich (1959), il y a vingt-cinq ans. J'y avais cherché à mettre en lumière l'unité de l'ouvrage de Luc, évangile et Actes, en m'appuyant sur les grandes articulations du récit et en y découvrant la même manière d'envisager l'accession des Gentils au salut.1 Mais cet intérêt porté par Luc à la signification théologique de l'appel des Gentils constitue l'autre face d'un problème plus fondamental encore, celui que soulève le rapport entre le peuple d'Israël et l'Eglise chrétienne.2 Ce problème a plus particulièrement retenu mon attention dans l'exposé que j'ai fait, il y a sept ans, au Colloquium Biblicum de Louvain sur les Actes (1977), en prenant comme point de départ la conclusion de ce livre.3 Ici encore, il s'agissait essentiellement de sondages opérés aux articulations majeures de l'ouvrage.

Traditionally Christians have interpreted Isaiah 52. 13–53. 12 as a prophecy of the passion of Christ,1 but modern biblical scholars have disagreed about how this identification of the suffering servant with Jesus arose. In particular, those who have investigated the question of whether Jesus saw himself as occupying the role of the servant have reached conflicting conclusions.2 In the background of this discussion is another contentious issue, namely, whether a messianic interpretation of the suffering servant had already been adopted in pre-Christian Judaism. Representative of a negative response to this question is H. H. Rowley, who writes: ‘There is no serious evidence … of the bringing together of the concepts of the suffering servant and the Davidic Messiah before the Christian era.’3 A much more positive assessment is given by Jeremias, who has championed the view that the first and fourth servant songs were consistently interpreted messianically in Palestinian Judaism, and that it is highly probable that a messianic interpretation of the sufferings of the servant was associated with this.4

In its original application to literary language παραβολή evidently denoted analogy: ideas ‘laid side by side’ for comparison or contrast. In the Budding Fig Tree (Mk 13. 28–9; cf. Mt 24. 32–3, Lk 21. 19–31) the form of statement makes this rhetorical juxtaposition most obvious:

For centuries most Protestant churches, true to the Reformers' understanding of man and the Law, have preached the Christian message by presenting first the Law, so that the hearer would come to recognize his or her sinfulness, and then the Gospel, that the hearer might be brought to hope, and eventually to faith, in Jesus Christ. As the New Testament begins with the stern exhortations of John the Baptist, so, it has been argued, the Christian proclamation should always and everywhere commence with God's command. But now, in seminaries and churches, some have seized upon new expositions of the Law and used them to oppose this preaching scheme as unworkable, since not all will have any sins against the Law to recognize; and even as wrong, on the grounds that this approach inevitably lapses into trying to make people ‘feel guilty’. The result is that many of the new generation of ministers are learning to preach only consolation, or, at most, the judgment upon certain social orders pronounced by popularized liberation theology. It is with this homilectical situation in mind that I offer the following remarks on Paul's understanding of man's relationship to the Law, and through the Law to sin.

In dem Aussendungsbericht, mit dem Matthäus seine Evangelienschrift abschließt (28. 16–20), erhalten die elf Jünger den Befehl, alle Völker zu Jüngern zu machen, indem sie sie taufen und indem sie sie lehren. Damit hat die Notwendigkeit der Taufe eine hervorragende Stellung erhalten. Der Taufbefehl wird von dem Auferstanderien erteilt, nachdem er alle Macht im Himmel und auf Erden erhalten hat, und er ist, zusammen mit der An-kündigung, daß er bei ihnen sein wird alle Tage, das letzte Wort, das er seinen Jüngern gesagt hat. Der Umstand, daß Matthäus als einziger Jesus die Taufe befehlen läßt, ist ein wichtiger Hinweis darauf, daß die Taufe in der Kirche als bedeutsam angesehen wird, zu der der betreffende Evangelist gehörte und für deren theologische Haltung er als Exponent steht.

Eine wesentliche Hilfe zur Erfassung der Komposition des Evangeliums ist der wiederholte Gebrauch bestimmter Formeln, so z.B. 7. 28; 11. 1; 13. 53; 19. 1; 26. 1: ‘Und es geschah, als Jesus diese Reden vollendet hatte …’ In 7. 28 f. findet sich die Formel genau an der Nahtstelle zwischen der Bergpredigt (Kap. 5–7) und der folgenden Sammlung von Wundern (Kap. 8–9). Sie leitet vom Wortteil zum Tatteil der Komposition über. Wir nennen sie daher Überleitungs- oder Übergangsformel. Der Vergleich mit Lukas (7. 1) zeigt, daß sie durch Q angeregt sein könnte. Matthäus verbindet sie in 7. 28 f. mit Mark 1. 22, um die Vollmacht Jesu anzuzeigen: ‘Denn er lehrte sie wie einer, der Gewalt hat, und nicht wie ihre Schriftgelehrten.’ -In 11. 1 steht die Übergangsformel am Abschluß der Senderede Kap. 10 und leitet zur Täuferfrage über: ‘Bist du es, der da kommen soll, oder sollen wir auf einen anderen warten?’ (11. 3). Jesus beantwortet diese Frage in 11. 5 f. mit dem Hinweis auf seine Werke: ‘Blinde werden sehend und Lahme gehen, Aussätzige werden rein und Taube hören, Tote werden auferweckt und Armen wird die frohe Botschaft gebracht, und selig ist, wer an mir keinen Anstoß nimmt.’ – Dann taucht die Formel wieder am Abschluß der Gleichnisrede in 13. 53 auf. Wenige Verse später betont Matthäus, daß Jesus in seiner Vaterstadt ‘um ihres Unglaubens willen’ nicht viele Machttaten vollbrachte (13. 58). Von solchen Taten ist dann aber im folgenden wieder die Rede (14.1 ff.). Die Formel findet sich weiter am Abschluß der Gemeinderede, wieder unter Hinweis auf Taten Jesu: ‘Und eine große Volksmenge folgte ihm nach, und er heilte sie dort’ (19. 1 f.). Von weiteren Wundertaten ist hier dann freilich nicht die Rede. –Em letztes Mai setzt Matthäus die Übergangsformel an den Abschluß der endzeitlichen Reden (Kap. 24–25) und markiert so den Übergang zur Passionsgeschichte (26. 1), die hier die Tatseite des Christuswerkes Jesu repräsentiert.

Despite the relative brevity of 1 and 2 Thessalonians, there is little scholarly consensus today concerning their interpretation. Whether the issue is the integrity of 1 Thess 2. 13–16 or the authenticity of 2 Thessalonians, whether the problem involves the interpretation of the so-called ‘apology’ in 1 Thess 2. 1–12 or that of τὸ κατέχον of 2 Thessalonians, whether the question deals with the eschatology of 1 Thess 4. 13–5. 11 or of 2 Thessalonians, or whether the query involves the form-critical analysis of either document, there is little agreement among contemporary New Testament scholars.

In der Arbeit der Seminargruppe 8 soll nach ‘Paulus und Jesus’ unter dem besonderen Aspekt von ‘Grundproblemen der Beziehungen Pauli zur Jesus-tradition’ gefragt werden.1 Gibt es zu diesem so viel diskutierten Thema noch neue Aspekte, die eine erneute Diskussion lohnen? Vor allem: Was macht das Thema erneut so aktuell, daß sich eine Arbeitsgruppe unserer SNTS gerade ihm widmen will?

Until recently the empty tomb has been widely regarded as both an offence to modern intelligence and an embarrassment for Christian faith; an offence because it implies a nature miracle akin to the resuscitation of a corpse and an embarrassment because it is nevertheless almost inextricably bound up with Jesus's resurrection, which lies at the very heart of the Christian faith. But in the last several years, a remarkable change seems to have taken place, and the scepticism that so characterized earlier treatments of this problem appears to be fast receding. Though some theologians still insist with Bultmann that the resurrection is not a historical event, this incident is certainly presented in the gospels as a historical event, one of the manifestations of which was that the tomb of Jesus was reputedly found empty on the first day of the week by several of his women followers; this fact, at least, is therefore in principle historically verifiable. But how credible is the evidence for the historicity of Jesus's empty tomb?

The two most recent studies of Paul and the law both show a large measure of agreement in criticizing Paul's treatment of the law as inconsistent and self-contradictory. E. P. Sanders argues that Paul's ‘break’ with the law gave rise to different questions and problems, and that his ‘diverse answers, when set alongside one another, do not form a logical whole’.1 So, in particular, Paul's ‘treatment of the law in chapter 2 (of Romans) cannot be harmonized with any of the diverse things which Paul says about the law elsewhere’; in Romans 2 ‘Paul goes beyond inconsistency or variety of argument and explanation to true self-contradiction’.2 More thoroughgoing is H. Räisänen, who can see only one way to handle what Paul says: ‘contradictions and tensions have to be accepted as constant features of Paul's theology of the law’.3 Again and again he finds himself driven to the conclusion that Paul contradicts himself. So, for example, with Rom 13. 8–10: ‘Paul seems here simply to have forgotten what he wrote in ch. 7 or in 10. 4’; ‘(Romans) 2.14–15,26–27 stand in flat contradiction to the main thesis of the section’; Paul puts forward ‘artificial and conflicting theories about the law’.4 The artificiality and tension is evident not least in Gal 3. 10–12, where Räisänen finds the argument of 3. 10 to be at odds with the argument of 3. 11–12.5

Das Verhältnis von Gesetz und Sände zu bestimmen, könnte ein historisches Unternehmen sein. Wenn jedoch im Anschluss an Paulus über dieses Problem nachgedacht wird, kann es nicht beim historischen Unternehmen bleiben. Entgegen einem Trend der gegenwärtigen Forschung, Paulus bloss noch historisch wahrzunehmen, will ich im Folgenden den Versuch machen, mich auch dem theologischen (und erst recht dem anthropologischen) Anspruch des paulinischen Denkens zu stellen.

In this article I hope to show that a careful reading of Daniel 7, 12 and of aspects of the midrashic traditions associated with that text can throw new light on the Synoptic and Johannine passion-resurrection predictions. It suggests that an early interpretation of elements of these sayings can be recovered, an interpretation based on an implicit identification of one like a son of man with those whom the author of Daniel considers the members of the true Israel, in their suffering and in their triumph.

In his Manson Memorial Lecture for 19821 James Dunn credits E. P. Sanders2 with ‘breaking the mould of Pauline studies’ and giving us ‘what amounts to a new perspective on Paul’, not least by showing that the traditional Christian picture of Judaism is ‘fundamentally mistaken’.3 Dunn agrees with Sanders' characterization of ancient Palestinian Judaism as ‘covenantal nomism’, in the framework of which ‘Israel's covenant relation with God was basic’.

The antithesis between right and left is a commonplace idea of our modern world. It is hardly surprising that something so basic to human description and behaviour should have figured extensively in the ancient Near East and the Classical world as well. But, while there are advantages in an idea which crosses geographical and temporal frontiers so readily, there are disadvantages too, if it is necessary to reach any precision in meaning. So when we read in Didache 12. 1 of ‘right and left understanding’, the expression may not seem to require a second thought, or a commentator's attention. And yet, unless there is some clue in the context, any further deliberations merely serve to increase the puzzlement about what is meant.

Of all the special-L Son of Man logia, that in the Stephen-unit (Acts 6. 8–8. 2) is the most important for an understanding of Luke's work. The whole account is properly a unity, and the legion's meaning emerges from the meaning of the whole. For reasons which are merely noted at this stage, some interesting features of the unit are ignored in this discussion. For example, in the following paragraphs there is no examination of Luke's sources for his speech. Whatever they once were, the sources have been worked over so thoroughly that they are now linguistically and conceptually indistinguishable from the rest of Lk-Acts. Similarly, whatever form of Christian theology underlay those sources is not now available for the reconstruction of a stage in Christian history. Some writers have detected links between Stephen and the Samaritans, the Qumran writings, the Letter to the Hebrews or the community for which John the Evangelist wrote. None of these is discussed here, because Luke made this unit his own, functioning in the way he intended, achieving his purposes for his age.

Writing about 177 AD Celsus claimed that Christians and Jews quarrel with one another very foolishly. ‘Their wrangle with one another about Christ is no different from that called in the proverb a fight about the shadow of an ass.’ Celsus continues: ‘There is nothing worthy of attention in the dispute of Jews and Christians with one another.’

La critique historique au XIXe s., surtout en Allemagne, perdit progressivement tout respect pour les données géographiques et chronologiques de l'évangile selon saint Jean. D. F. Strauss dans son fameux livre ‘Das Leben Jesu’ de 1835–36 pouvait considérer cet évangile comme un développement du mythe déjà présent chez les synoptiques, et cela dans un but apologétique et dogmatique. B. Bauer voyait en 1840 en l'auteur de notre évangile essentiellement un artiste, libre de créer de toutes pièces. F. C. Bauer, l'influent hégélien qui donna naissance à ce que l'on appelle ‘l'école de Tubingue’, fixa en 1847 une date tardive pour l'évangile de Jean, dans la seconde moitié du IIe s., et le voyait entièrement dominé par une idée centrale sur Jésus, le combat entre la lumière et les ténèbres. La critique de Jean sous cette forme extrême perdit tout crédit le jour où l'on découvrit un fragment datant selon l'expertise d'environ l'an 130. Mais déjà E. Renan en 1863 dans ‘La Vie de Jésus’, sensibilisé par ses voyages en Palestine, se montrait moins sceptique que Strauss à l'égard d'au moins certaines données géographiques et chronologiques de Jean. Les oeuvres récentes (s'il est permis de s'en tenir à un rappel aussi schématique et de sauter de nombreux intermédiaries) sont, comme celles du début du XIXe s. ou celles de certains adversaires de Strauss, plus attentives aux informations concrètes que nous fournit cet évangile spirituel. Même si l'on ne défend plus avec la même netteté qu'autrefois son origine apostolique, on y trouve bien des traits caractéristiques d'une information sérieuse, souvent indépendante des synoptiques, qui semble remonter très haut. Comme arrièrefond on envisage aujourd’hui moins souvent un milieu exclusivement hellénistique qu'un enracinement juif et même nettement palestinien, du moins pour certaines couches des matériaux rassemblés. Quelle que soit l'histoire concrète d'une évolution à l'intérieur de ce qu'on nomme ‘communauté johannique’ ou ‘école johannique’, on admet volontiers que pour bien des indications géographiques et chronologiques cet écrit, qui reflète différents conflits difficiles à saisir, est plus crédible que les synoptiques.

The Coptic Gospel of Thomas is one of the most spectacular of the fifty-two tractates filling the thirteen codices of the Nag Hammadi library. Discovered in December 1945 by several Egyptian fellahin, the Nag Hammadi tractates were subjected to a variety of political and scholarly ploys, and were not made available in their entirety until the very end of 1977, when the last of the volumes of manuscript pages in the Facsimile Edition and the one-volume edition of The Nag Hammadi Library in English finally appeared.1 One of the very first of the documents to be published was the Gospel of Thomas, and its appearance has already stimulated the production of numerous articles and monographs by the scholars who have recognized its significance for our knowledge of Christian origins and early church history. Since the time of its initial publication scholars have suggested a variety of interpretations of the Gospel, and to date no consensus has been reached. Yet, in my estimation, a reasonably strong case can be made that the Gospel of Thomas, in its present form, belongs at least on the periphery of Christian Gnosticism, and to that extent the Coptic text may be termed a gnosticizing gospel.2

It is fairly common today to explain the development of New Testament thought along the lines of an early fixation on the future and progressive shifts brought about by the parousia's delay. On such a view, it was apocalyptic eschatology that dominated Paul's outlook in his early days, while soteriology, christology, ecclesiology and ethics came to assume importance only later. Few scholars, of course, lay out Paul's thought quite so explicitly as that. Yet it is something like that which has become fairly fixed in the minds of many.

Years of research on the sources of the gospels of Matthew and Luke led long since to three conclusions which many of us still find valid, first, that both these authors used our gospel of Mark; second, that they both used another source, commonly called Q; third, that each also used a source unknown to the other, and these two sources have been named M and L respectively. But about the nature of Q, M and L there are plenty of unanswered questions - such as, were they single sources or does each name cover several sources which we cannot easily disentangle from one another? Were they written or oral? How accurately do Matthew and Luke, who abbreviate Mark, quote their other sources? The language of Q was Aramaic; was the same true of other sources?