Art is part of the history of the church, and relates to spirituality and to the practical expression of Christian faith. It illustrates theological loci and biblical themes. Often, the art which fulfils this function does so with the conscious intent of the artist; sometimes not. Attempts have been made, however, to argue that art not only illustrates theology, but also contributes to it. Even so, systematic theologians and biblical scholars — when they do talk to each other — still converse on the basis of largely word-centred approaches to their tasks. I am neither systematic theologian nor biblical scholar, precisely because I attempt to keep a foot in both camps. I am even less of an art critic. Yet it is clear that in the world of art there is a whole area of exploration yet to be ventured into not only historically (have we really sufficiently explored how biblical interpretation and doctrinal theology have been influenced by art?) but also from the perspective of constructive theology (what contribution can art past and present make to the very reformulation and expansion of Christian doctrine?). This paper offers a brief reading of three paintings by Rembrandt, of the Emmaus Road story in Luke 24.13–35. The theological significance of the changing interpretations of the passage is drawn out and the implications of the use of the paintings, in terms of the creative use of the Bible in Christian theology.

‘What is Woman that thou art mindful of her, or the Daughter of Woman that thou dost care for her?’ The question posed by this revision of Psalm 8:4 has troubled feminist theological scholarship in myriad ways over the last thirty years. To be sure, even within non-theological feminist scholarship, the question of what defines ‘womanhood’, how woman is biologically, socio-culturally, emotionally and spiritually constituted, has been explicitly addressed and hotly debated. In theological feminist scholarship, the question has often remained underground and implicit but nevertheless central. In regard to this question's specific relation to the doctrine of sin, the debate has had a complex history in feminist theological scholarship. It will be argued, after the history of the debate has been sketched, that the terms of the debate have been limited from the outset by a reaction to one stream of Protestant thought. The debate itself is therefore theologically thin, and in need of further fleshing out. It will be the thesis of this essay that the theological inadequacies of the feminist debate over the nature of women's sin in effect undercut the intentions of feminist scholarship to heal the wounds inflicted by sexism, and that a hamartiology such as that found in Karl Barth's Church Dogmatics may promise a way beyond the impasse.

In October 1862, John William Colenso, bishop of Natal, published a book entitled The Pentateuch and book of Joshua critically examined. Although this volume proved to be only the first of seven parts, and the bishop's life was eventful in other ways, the controversy surrounding this volume did more than any other single factor to determine Colenso's enduring reputation. To his critics, the publication of such a book was an outrageous and heretical act. When the book was discussed in the Lower House of Convocation, C. E. Kennaway was convinced that it should be labelled ‘Poison!’ and Archdeacon Denison declared that ‘No book can ever be brought under our consideration of a worse character than this’ and that ‘if a man asserts such things as are in this book — anathema esto — let him be put away’. In the end, both houses of Convocation resolved that ‘the main propositions’ of the book ‘involve errors of the gravest and most dangerous character’.

Ecumenical myopia?

As a participant in the interchurch scene for many years I have become increasingly conscious of a phenomenon which I can best describe as ‘ecumenical myopia’. Myopia means short sightedness, and what I am thinking about is the tendency for ecumenical vision to fall short of its true objective: the lines of sight converge to a focus too soon, and from then on — as my schoolboy physics tells me — they cross each other and diverge in different directions into an obscure and unfocussed blur.

In this paper I wish first to reconsider the nature of Gnostic soteriology in response to classic criticisms, ancient and modern, and then to suggest the perennial challenge that it poses to Christian theories of atonement.