It wasn’t long before John [Chrysostom was condemning the extravagances he witnessed among the upper class of [Constantinople]. He preached that the earth was common property and that inequalities in wealth were tantamount to theft from God, who intended all to have access to the resources of creation.
The range of those in the city whom John offended was quite wide.
Irvin & Sundquist, History of the World Christian Movement, p. 190-91.
This is something I had to write for my church history class at Biblical Seminary.
1. Summary
“Of the Correction of the Donatists” is a letter from Augustine to Boniface, a government official in Africa. Augustine explains in this letter why the Donatists are in error, why the secular state is justified in using force against the Donatists, and why the Catholic Church is correct in admitting reformed Donatists back into fellowship.
Augustine first explains that the Donatists’ error consists in breaking from the authority of the Catholic Church. The Donatists, he notes, do not espouse any of the extant Christological or Trinitarian heresies. In fact, the Donatists’ error is particularly foolish, Augustine asserts, because they purport to esteem the scriptures highly. They recognize that the scriptures clearly teach the truth about Christ, but they ignore scripture’s teaching on the Church. The Donatists are happy to learn of Christ from the scriptures, but they build their understanding of the Church “from the vanity of human falsehood. . . .” In contrast, “the evidence of all the several scriptures with one accord proclaims the Church spread abroad throughout the world, with which the faction of Donatus does not hold communion.”
Augustine then responds to the Donatists’ argument that the civil authorities should not interfere with an internecine Church dispute about the legitimacy of disputed Bishoprics. He argues that the civil law, under the authority of Christian magistrates, operates as a form of divine discipline. When a Christian magistrate punishes schismatics, no less than when a physician administers a bitter medicine, the pain inflicted is an act of love. The sermons of Catholic preachers, the laws of Catholic princes, and the example of those who heed both kinds of warnings, all work together to reform society towards the goal of unity and salvation in Christ.
In the midst of this discussion, Augustine offers an excursus on civil disobedience and persecution. It is true, Augustine notes, that a righteous person ought to obey civil laws that are contrary to God’s truth. It is equally true, however, that those who disobey civil laws that are consistent with God’s truth are thereby condemned. It follows that those who are punished for failing to obey true laws gain no reward. “True martyrs” are those who suffer for the sake of righteousness. Augustine illustrates this point with reference to the Biblical figures of Hagar and Saul, who suffered just punishment, and therefore could not be considered “martyrs.” Thus, secular rulers need not fear that they are acting impiously by “persecuting” wayward people such as the Donatists. In persecuting the Donatists, secular princes are doing God’s work.
Augustine follows his discussion of the proper role of persecution with a critique of the Donatists’ excesses in seeking martyrdom. He notes that “vast crowds” of Donatists gathered at pagan festivals with the hope of being martyred, while others committed suicide. If a Christian prince acts harshly towards such people, he is doing so in order to save them from the worse fate of false martyrdom.
According to Augustine, the Donatists were not content to seek their own destruction. In addition, they acted violently against Catholics, seizing property, burning homes, and extracting extortionate protection payments. When some of the schismatics in Carthage began to return to the Catholic party after further schism among the Donatists, the Donatist leaders became even more fierce in their persecution of the Catholics, bringing general civil disorder to the region. This further demonstrates that is was appropriate for the civil authorities to step in and suppress the Donatists.
After this discussion of the need for civil order, Augustine offers another excursus on the theology of governmental force. Here he draws on two strains from scripture: the notion that kings should serve the Lord with “fear” and “trembling”; and the eschatological vision that all kings and nations will serve God. These theological principles, Augustine asserts, show that it is proper for secular princes to use force to compel schismatics to return to the true Church. This is confirmed by many examples of such uses of power in scripture, including Hezekiah’s destruction of high places, the Ninevite King’s decree that the people of his city turn to God, and Nebuchadnezzar’s law outlawing blasphemy against God.
Augustine then addresses the argument advanced by Donatist leaders that true faith cannot be compelled by force. Quite curiously, he quotes aphorisms of Roman playwright Publius Terentius concerning the discipline of children. He ties this to scriptures, mostly from Proverbs, about the discipline of servants. In addition, he offers the example of Paul, whom he says was compelled by the force of the Damascus Road experience to convert to Christianity. Finally, he offers the picture of Jesus as a shepherd, who must tame his sheep by the pain of the whip if they will not answer to more tender encouragements. Likewise, he suggests, the Church, and by extension kings who acknowledge the Church, are empowered to compel heretics and schismatics to return to the fold.
In Chapter Seven, Augustine discusses what sort of force is appropriate for a Christian prince to employ. He notes that he at first was convinced that only defensive force should be used. However, the savagery of the Donatists changed his mind. He learned, for example, of the assault on the Bishop of Bagai, who was beaten, stabbed, and dragged through the dust. This convinced Augustine that defensive force was not sufficient. Active, offensive force was required to root out the violent offenders and to deter others from joining their ranks.
Augustine then responds to the charge that the Catholic Church seeks to employ the law against the Donatists out of a desire for wealth and plunder. He argues that the Catholic Church is the true “society of the just,” tasked by God with the care of the poor and the proclamation of the gospel. It is the Donatists, then, who are acting selfishly by withholding from the Catholic Church the property and offerings that the Church could properly employ in its true mission.
Finally, in Chapter Eleven, Augustine briefly explains why such strong measures should be taken to encourage the Donatists to return to the true Church if, by defecting from the Church, members of the Donatist party have committed an unpardonable sin. Augustine argues that the “sin against the Holy Spirit” cannot truly be unpardonable while a person still lives, or else no one could ever be saved. The unpardonable sin must refer to a persistent refusal to acknowledge the truth through the end of a person’s mortal life. While a person is still living, he may repent and return to the true Church. If a person dies unrepentant of schism, however, he is lost forever.
2. Analysis
This document is significant because it establishes a framework for the relationship between the Church and the secular state that has persisted through the present day. Augustine and other orthodox thinkers believed that the temporal success and unity of the Church was a sign of the truth of the gospel (per, e.g., Athanasius in “On the Incarnation of the Word”). Moreover, they held to a strong ecclesiology in which the Church, through its Bishops, was the true successor to the Apostles. In that context, it was a forceful argument to suggest that God uses leaders of civil government as instruments of the Church’s triumph over evil. This line of thought provided theological heft to the transition from the pacifism of some of the early Patriarchs to the forcefulness of Constantinian Christianity.
Augustine’s notion that the civil state can encourage authentic faith through the coercive power of the law survives today in some versions of Christian political / legal theory. Indeed, it is employed in a modified fashion by many evangelicals in North America. For example, some of the arguments of those who support Constitutional amendments banning “gay marriage” hearken back to Augustine’s notion that civil law can serve as a loving moral corrective to bring sinners to God. Contemporary evangelicals tend to refract this idea through the lens of neo-Calvinism, particularly through the political theory of Abraham Kuyper and John Calvin. Nevertheless, the underlying tie between “common grace” and the role of the civil magistrate is essentially Augustinian.
I personally think this Augustinian heritage is both good and bad. The law indeed can be a moral teacher, civil magistrates are Biblically commissioned to promote justice and restrain evil, and common grace does operate in the sphere of civil government such that civil law can reflect to some extent the divine moral law (see, e.g., various Proverbs, Micah 6:8, Romans 13). However, the particularly Augustinian tie between the Church and the civil State is in my view troubling. I think many contemporary evangelicals fail to appreciate the ways in which such ties always implicate the Church in quite un-Christ-like coercion and violence – symbolic political “violence” if not actual physical violence.
“The path to theological maturity leads necessarily through the study of the Christian past, and this requires a kind of spiritual and intellectual apprenticeship. Before we become masters we must become disciples. From the great thinkers of Christian history, we learn how to use the language of faith, to understand the inner logic of theological ideas, to discern the relation between seemingly disparate concepts, to discover what is central and what peripheral, and to love God above all things. Before we learn to speak on our own we must allow others to form our words and guide our thoughts. Historical theology is an exercise in humility, for we discover that theology is as much a matter of receiving as it is of constructing, that it has to do with the heart as well as with the intellect, with character as well as with doctrines, with love as well as with understanding.”
— Robert Louis Wilken
Here is a brief analytical review I did for my Church History class at Biblical Seminary on Athanasius, On the Incarnation of the Word of God.
I. Summary
In “On the Incarnation of the Word,” Athanasius, Patriarch of Alexandria in the fourth century, offers a comprehensive apology for an orthodox understanding of the incarnation of Christ. The apology is a masterful blending of narrative theology (to use an anachronistic term) and philosophical analysis.
Athanasius begins with an argument from creation. He argues that there are different parts of creation that serve different functions, just as there are different parts of a human body. One part cannot cause a part with a different function to exist. For example, the Sun cannot cause the Moon to exist. It follows, Athanasius argues, that every part of creation must have been brought into existence by a cause prior to any individual part. Athanasius distinguishes this view of creation from the Platonic notion of eternally preexisting matter. The Christian notion of the creator-God, unlike the Platonic ergon or the Gnostic demiurge, alone accounts for God as the cause of creation’s existence.
Athanasius then turns to the creation and rebellion of man. Human beings were created by God “after His own image, giving them a portion even of the power of His own word.”[1] Even though humans were “by nature mortal,” they were capable of immortality because the “likeness” of God would “stay [their] natural corruption.”[2] But men turned away from God and thereby “became the cause of their own corruption in death. . . .”[3] The effect of man’s rebellion was a sort of feedback loop of corruption: “the race of man was perishing; the rational man made in God’s image was disappearing, and the handiwork of God was in process of dissolution.”[4]
God’s solution to the dissolution caused by human sin was the incarnation. The incarnation had two purposes: to end the law of sin and death, and to facilitate human knowledge of God. Concerning the first purpose of the incarnation, God had mercy on humankind and “condescended to our corruption” by becoming a man, Jesus Christ.[5] The death and resurrection of Christ ended the law of death for all humankind.[6] Concerning the second purpose, God had provided evidence of Himself in the creation, the law and the prophets, but men ignored this evidence.[7] Christ came to remind men of the nature and purpose for which they were created. The life and works of Christ testify even more clearly than creation, the law, or the prophets to the glory for which man was originally created.[8] After describing the two purposes of the incarnation, Athanasius anticipates some objections to his Christology, in particular that an incarnate God must be part of the creation and therefore no longer God over creation. He notes that Christ was not “bound to His body,” but was sustaining the universe at the same time as he was “wielding” his body.[9] Yet, at the same time, his body was truly his own and was a real human body.[10]
The next chapters describe reasons for Christ’s death by crucifixion and for his resurrection on the third day. Athanasius argues that the crucifixion demonstrated that Christ did not die of natural causes as an ordinary man. Moreover, the public nature of crucifixion guaranteed that Christ truly died and forecloses any argument that the resurrection was faked. Further, the crucifixion is a sign of God’s invitation to participate in the atonement: “[f]or it is only on the cross that a man dies with his hands spread out.”[11]
Finally, three days in the grave was a long enough period to demonstrate that Christ had truly died, but not so long as to raise suspicion that his body had been stolen.
After discussing these aspects of Christ’s death and resurrection, Athanasius argues that the changed lives of Christians and the power of the “sign of the Cross” prove the power of the crucifixion and resurrection. The power of the sign of the Cross over demons and idols shows that Christ is “living and active” in the world.[12] The Cross is thereby established as “a moment of victory over death and its corruption.”[13]
Having established the victory of Christ’s death and resurrection over the sinful trajectory set by man’s rebellion, Athanasius turns to the question why the Jews and the Greeks reject the claims of Christ. With respect to the Jews, Athanasius argues that the Hebrew scriptures clearly prophecy the passion and death of Christ, including the particulars of the cross and Daniel’s supposed prediction of the date of Christ’s birth. He further argues that the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem shows that Judaism has been judged by Christ.
Concerning the Greeks, Athanasius argues for the propriety of the incarnation, a notion Greek philosophy thought scandalous. God became incarnate in Christ so that he could offer true healing and restoration rather than mere correction by fiat.[14] Moreover, human corruption was not ontologically separate from embodied humanity, and therefore could only be addressed by embodiment.[15] Corruption and death had become intrinsic to human nature and would have remained so had Christ not become incarnate and been raised incorruptible. Finally, the incarnate Christ is superior to pagan gods in the quality of his works, the continuing power of his presence (evidenced in the lives of his followers and the effects of the sign of the Cross), and Christianity’s capacity to pacify warring cultures.
Athanasius sums up his argument by highlighting the triumphal progress of the gospel. The telos of human history is realized in Christ: “He was made man that we might be made God.”[16] This process of theosis is progressively illuminating the entire world.[17] All who search the Scriptures with pure intentions, Athanasius concludes, will clearly see and understand the glory of Christ.
The “Incarnation of the Son of God” is historically significant because it presents a rich account of the importance of the incarnation in Athanasius’ theology. Athanasius was a key defender of orthodox Christology against Arius. The “Incarnation” establishes that only one who is both the creator and a human being can remove the corruption of humanity that results from sin.
Athanasius’ anthropology, theory of atonement, and eschatology as reflected in the “Incarnation” also offer interesting resources for contemporary Christian theology as we wrestle to come to grips with the natural sciences after Darwin. Athanasius’ anthropology answers reductionist accounts of human nature without requiring an unsustainable reliance on prelapsarian humans with incorruptible physical bodies. For Athanasius, the “likeness” of God in prelapsarian humanity kept corruption at bay rather than anything inherent in the physical human body.
The “Christus Victor” emphasis of Athanasius’ theory of atonement and his eschatology of theosis likewise provide helpful resources to missional Christians living in a scientific age. Evolutionary psychology suggests that humans are programmed by nature and history for selfishness.[18] In our “natural” state, we are mere brutes. Only the presence of Christ can defeat our brutish nature and enable us to live in consonance with the divine. Moreover, the victorious presence of the divine in redeemed humanity establishes the conditions necessary for all of creation to realize its potential. The presence of Christ in the Church is the means by which God ultimately will direct the entire creation to its proper
[1] Chapter 3, § 3.
[2] Chapter 4, § 5.
[3] Chapter 5, § 1.
[4] Chapter 6, § 1.
[5] Chapter 8, § 2.
[6] See Chapter 10, § 5: “For by the sacrifice of his own body, He both put an end to the law which was against us, and made a new beginning of life for us, by the hope of resurrection over men, for this cause conversely, by the Word of God being made man has come about the destruction of death and the resurrection of life . . . .”
[7] See Chapter 12, § 3: “So it was open to them, by looking into the height of heaven, and perceiving the harmony of creation, to know its Ruler, the Word of the Father, Who, by His own providence over all things makes known the Father to all, and to this end moves all things, that through Him all may know God.”
[8] This is stated memorably in Chapter 14, § 1: “[f]or as, when the likeness painted on a panel has been effaced by stains from without, he whose likeness it is must needs come once more to enable the portrait to be renewed on the same wood: for, for the sake of his picture, even the mere wood on which it is painted is not thrown away, but the outline is renewed upon it.”
[9] Chapter 17, §§ 3-5. Athanasius states: “And this was the wonderful thing that He was at once walking a man, and as the Word was quickening all things, and as the Son was dwelling with His Father.”
[10] Chapter 18, § 1: “the actual body which ate, was born, and suffered, belonged to none other but to the Lord: and because, having become man, it was proper for these things to be predicated of Him as man, to shew Him to have a body in truth, and not in seeming.”
[11] Chapter 25, § 1.
[12] By the sign of the Cross, Athanasius says, “all magic is stopped, and all witchcraft brought to nought, and all the idols are being deserted and left, and every unruly pleasure is checked, and everyone is looking up from earth to heaven. . . .” Chapter 31, § 2.
[13] Chapter 32, § 4.
[14] “Let them know that the Lord came not to make a display, but to heal and teach those who were suffering.” Chap. 43, § 1.
[15] Chapter 44, § 4 (“the corruption which had set in was not external to the body, but had become attached to it; and it was required that, engendered in the body, so life may be engendered in it also.”).
[16] Chapter 54, § 3.
[17] Chapter 55, § 2 (“[f]or as, when the sun is come, darkness no longer prevails, but if any be still left anywhere it is driven away; so, now that the divine Appearing of the Word of God is come, the darkness of the idols prevails no more, and all parts of the world in every direction are illumined by His teaching.”
Here are some questions for discussion about the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas.
Question I: What were the nature of Perpetua’s dreams / visions and what do they say about her spiritual beliefs and practices?
Related sub-questions:
Were Perpetua’s dreams / visions given to her by the Holy Spirit, were they stress-induced psychological manifestations, are they literary devices, or all or none of the above?
What messages would the record of Perpetua’s dreams / visions have communicated to third-century readers?
Can we infer from Perpetua’s reliance on dreams and visions that she was part of a Montanist or proto-Montanist movement?
Question II: What, if anything, can we infer about Perpetua’s understanding of the afterlife from her vision about her deceased younger brother (and, presumably, the understanding of the afterlife in the Christian community she had joined)?
Question III: Should we take Perpetua today as a role model?
Related sub-questions:
What should we make today of Perpetua’s spirituality of dreams and visions?
What should we make today of the theology implicit in Perpetua’s dreams / visions, particularly concerning the afterlife?
Should we be eager, as Perpetua and Felicitas were, for martyrdom?
Can you think of any contemporary analogues to Perpetua’s story that might edify the North American missional church and/or appeal to people who are indifferent to the Gospel?
These are some of my favorite quotes from the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas.
“And Hilarian the procurator – he that after the death of Minucius Timinian the proconsul had received in this room the right and power of the sword – said: ‘Spare your father’s grey hairs; spare the infancy of the boy. Make sacrifice for the Emperor’s prosperity.’ And I answered: ‘I am a Christian.’”
“And when they had been brought to the gate and were being compelled to put on, the men the dress of the priests of Saturn, the women the dress of the priestesses of Ceres, the noble Perpetua remained of like firmness to the end, and would not. For she said: ‘For this cause came we willingly unto this, that our liberty might not be obscured.’”
‘The said he [Saturus] to Pudens the soldier: ‘Farewell; remember the faith and me; and let not these things trouble you, but strengthen you. And therewith he took from Pudens’ finger a little ring, and dipping it in his wound gave it back again for an heirloom, leaving him a pledge and memorial of his blood.’”
“But Perpetua, that she might have some taste of pain, was pierced between the bones and shrieked out; and when the swordsman’s hand wandered still (for he was a novice), herself set it upon her own neck. Perchance so great a woman could not else have been slain (being feared of the unclean spirit) had she not herself so willed it.”
This is a summary of the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas.
The document is the prison diary of Vibia Perpetua. Perpetua’s account of her pending execution is framed by a prologue and after-word that may have been composed by Tertullian or another witness to the executions.
Perpetua and a number of other catechumens (people who were preparing to join the Christian Church) are arrested shortly after their baptism. Two deacons in the local church, who apparently had not been arrested, pay bribes to gain access to the prisoners and to permit Perpetua to nurse her infant and visit with her family. During a visit, Perpetua’s brother, who also is a Christian cathecumen, relates that the Lord told him Perpetua should “ask for a vision” about whether she would be released or martyred.
Perpetua seeks a vision from the Lord concerning whether she will be released or martyred. She receives a vision of a ladder to heaven guarded by a serpent. She understands this to mean that she will be required to overcome her fear and receive martyrdom.
Perpetua’s father is permitted to visit her and tries to convince her to renounce her Christian faith so that she would be spared. There is a moving account of his grief and his efforts to manipulate Perpetua into avoiding martyrdom.
After a few more days in prison, while the group is praying, Perpetua “uttered a word and named Dinocrates,” her brother, who had died of an ulcerating disease at age seven. She begins to pray for Dinocrates. That night, she has a vision of Dinocrates in distress, reaching towards a fountain of water that was too high for him. Perpetua continues to pray for Dinocrates and receivedsanother vision of him appearing clean, healthy, and drinking from a golden cup. She notes “[t]hen I understood that he was translated from his pains.”
The day before her execution, Perpetua receives a final vision in which she “became a man” and defeated an Egyptian warrior in the arena. She understands this vision to mean that “I should fight, not with beasts but against the devil; but I knew that mine was the victory.”
Following the narrative of Perpetua’s final vision, the document recounts a vision received by Saturus. It seems that Saturus was imprisoned after the first group of cathecumens that had been captured along with Perpetua. His is a vision of heaven, where he and Perpetua met other martyrs. Also present in Saturus’ vision are “Optatus the bishop” and “Aspasius the priest and teacher,” who are involved in a dispute. Perpetua speaks with Optatus and Aspasius “in Greek” and then they are addressed by the angels.
The document then describes the martyrdom of Perpetua and the other prisoners. Felicty, a cathecumen who was a slave, is afraid that she will not be martyred, because she is pregnant, and it was illegal to subject a pregnant woman to capital punishment. The other prisoners pray that Felicity would deliver her baby in time. The baby is born and entrusted to Felicity’s sister. The martyrs enjoy a final love feast together, apparently a “last meal” of the same sort we provide people on death row today.
The prisoners refuse to dress as Roman priests and priestesses for the spectacle. They speak boldy to the Roman Procurator, Hilarian, about God’s judgment. The crowed is outraged and Hilarian orders them to be flogged. Wild animals are uncaged, including a boar (which gores and kills its handler), a bear (which fails to attack), a “savage cow,” and a leopard. They report a sort of ecstatic state in which they feel no pain as the animals attack. A soldier named Pudens finishes off the mauled and bleeding prisoners with a sword. Before dying, Saturus gives Pudens a blood-soaked ring as a memorial.
For my church history class at Biblical Seminary, I was assigned to read and present on The Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas. It’s a truly fascinating account of the martyrdom of a wealthy third century Roman woman in Carthage. He’s the background:
Historical Background
In the third century, Carthage was the capital of the Roman province of North Africa. Carthage was second only to Rome in wealth and sophistication. The area surrounding Carthage was the breadbasket of the Roman Empire and was known for producing wheat and fine olive oil. The wealth produced by this industry enabled the elites of Carthage to enjoy access to public art, literature, and the theater. Carthage was famous for its amphitheater.
Carthage was culturally diverse. Many Carthiginians were proud of their dual Roman-African heritage. We might say that if Rome was like a combination of New York City and Washington, D.C. today, Carthage was like Chicago or Los Angeles.
The Passion states that Perpetua came from a “good family.” Perpetua’s family name Vibius, was an ancient aristocratic Roman name. It is likely that Perpetua’s family had deep roots in the Roman-Carthiginian upper classes.
The Roman family was deeply patriarchal. Perpetua’s father likely was directly involved in her upbringing and education, and expected her unquestioned love and devotion in return. It is clear from the language and style used by Perpetua in her prison diary that she was intelligent, strong willed, and highly literate.
Pepetua was “wedded honorably” and was nursing a baby when she was martyred at twenty-two years of age. We know nothing of her husband.
Perpetua and the other martyrs we meet in her diary were “cathecumens.” These were people undergoing an extended period of preparation for baptism.
The early Christian writer Tertullian (ca. 160-ca. 240), a native of Carthage, wrote a scathing treatment of the spectacles offered in the amphitheater, which he considered idolatrous. Tertullian also collected and published martyr stories, including Perpetua’s. It is possible that Tertullian wrote the editorial glosses at the beginning and end of the account from Perpetua’s diary.
Later in his life, Tertullian allied himself with the Montanists, a group that believed the Holy Spirit continued to offer new revelation to the Church. Female prophets were important in the Montanist movement. The possible connection between Perpetua – a strong-willed woman who was admired by Tertullian and who received visions – and Montanism or proto-Montanism is hotly disputed. Montanist teaching eventually was condemned by the Bishop of Rome.
Sources:
Joyce E. Salisbury, Perpetua’s Passion: The Death and Memory of a Young Roman Woman (Routledge 1997).
David Baumgardner, The Carthage Amphitheater: A Reappraisal, American Journal of Archaeology, Vol. 93, No. 1 (Jan. 1989), pp. 85-103.
Paul Turner, The Hallelujah Highway: A History of the Cathecumenate (Liturgy Training 2000), at pp. 28-30.
Paul McKechnie, “Second Century ‘Women’s Religion,’” in Everett Ferguson, ed., Recent Studies in Early Christianity: A Collection of Essays (Routledge 1999).
To be sure, God’s plan and our history are not identical. God’s plan consists of much more than what God chooses to reveal to us or what we are able to discern of it. Much of what we see appears to be the work of a concealed God, even at times a seemingly capricious God. In Martin Luther’s (1483-1546) colorful image, history is ‘God’s mummery and mystery,’ ‘God’s joust and tourney.’ History is ‘God’s theatre,’ in which the play cannot be fully understood until it ends and until we exit. To equate one act or actor, one speech or text, with the divine play itself is to cast a partial and premature jugment. To insist on one interpretation of the play before it ends is to presume the power of eternal discernment. To judge the play on the basis of a few episodes is to insult the genius of the divine playwright.
— John Witte, Jr., God’s Joust, God’s Justice: Law and Religion in the Western Tradition.
In our first World Christian History lecture, Prof. Thomas mentioned the importance of women in the early church. No, this wasn’t revisionist neo-gnostic hooey — it was simply the role that widows and other women played in showing hospitality and spreading the gospel. This made me think of my mom. My mom is the paradigm of the “older woman” in Titus 2, who is able to teach younger people and set a good example. She tirelessly teaches Bible study groups with other women, and many have come to Christ or been deepened in the faith by her mentoring. She’ll stand with those first and second century women some day as true heroes of the faith.